The Lady of Flowers
by ShanMah
Summary: AU, Loras/Sansa: my take on what Sansa's life could've been if the Tyrells had been successful in marrying her to Loras.
1. A bride of green and gold

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the characters involved or anything related to Game of Thrones. This is a non-profit fanfiction and everything belongs to their rightful owners.

**Rating:** M

**Pairing:** Loras/Sansa

**Context: **This is just an AU fanfic that I've been thinking about for a while. Being a book reader I knew Sansa's marriage to a Tyrell wasn't going to happen but it still popped into my mind - hey, that's what fanfics are for! Hopefully you guys will enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed reading it :) I don't know how many chapters this is going to last, it probably won't be a very long story but I wanted to share nonetheless - mind you the last time I said that I wrote a 50 chapters fanfic so you never know!

**The Lady of Flowers**

**Chapter one: A bride of green and gold**

Sansa smiled at her reflection in the mirror: her long auburn hair had been lifted in a elaborate manner that showed the length of her neck, drawing the focus to the necklace she wore, emeralds set in shining gold to match her earrings. Sansa herself was all emerald and gold but for the Stark cloak that had just been put on her shoulders.

"Do you think he'll like me?" she nervously asked as Shae dabbed some perfume on her elegant neck.

Margaery had a soft laugh.

"You tell me if he does not, sweet girl. I'll make sure to put some sense into his head."

She saw the queen-to-be smile to her through the mirror when she approached.

"You look marvelous, Sansa. The Tyrell colours fit you as though you were born to them."

"Thank you, Lady Margaery, you are most kind."

The brunette laughed again.

"What will it take for you to stop being so formal with me, Sansa? In just a few hours, we'll be sisters, you and I."

"I'm sorry - I think it's because I still can't believe it. It seems too good to be true."

Margaery seemed hurt.

"Didn't you trust me?"

"I did!" Sansa quickly replied, afraid she might have offended her. "It was not you I didn't trust, nor your family - I just - it seemed to good to be true that the Lannisters would let me out of their grasp."

"Do you think we asked them for permission?" Margaery asked, her voice not as light as it had been earlier.

"No, I would think not."

"Yet there is little they can do about it now, and nothing they can do about it once the marriage is consummated, and trust me, Sansa, it's _killing_ them. They will probably try to ruin your day, but you need to remember..."

She brought her lips to her ear to whisper, her voice so low that even Shae, who was making final adjustments to her hair, could not hear her:

"They are powerless. You are getting out of this place and there is nothing they can do to stop you."

"What if they don't let me leave?" Sansa asked, biting her bottom lip nervously.

"The Lady of Highgarden belongs in Highgarden. What do the Lannisters have to say about that?"

She took her hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Shall we go?"

Sansa nodded, and the two young women left the bedroom.

Sansa was alone now, about to walk through the Great Sept: Margaery had left her to join the rest of her family. _My family,_ Sansa thought, _In just a short while they will be my family too. _From where she was standing, she could see Loras, clad in Tyrell colours, waiting for her with the septon. As she attempted to make her first step towards him, she felt a hand tight around her arm, startling her. Sansa turned around, and her blood turned to ice when she saw that the hand on her left arm belonged to no other than Joffrey.

"What are you doing?" she asked, trying her very best to sound calm even if her heart was pounding in her chest.

"Your father's dead," he reminded her, his lips curving in a cruel smile, "As the Father of the Realm, it is my duty to give you away to your husband."

Sansa had a very hard time hiding her revulsion: how dare he think that he could stand there instead of her lord father? Sansa had expected to walk alone on her way to Loras, or to be escorted by a man of the Tyrell family, or the _cook_, anyone but by _Joffrey_ himself. Her body stiffened when she felt his other hand pressed against her rear - even through so many layers of silky fabric, she could feel it burning her skin.

"Such a shame," Joffrey noted, everyone looking at them but no one close enough to hear their voices or to notice what he was doing, "To waste all of this on a man who has no idea how to use it properly."

_They are powerless, _Margeary's voice resonated in her mind, _They are powerless, there is nothing they can do to stop you, they are **powerless**_. She glanced over at Loras for a swift second, then turned back on Joffrey with a new strength in her eyes.

"But, Your Grace," she said politely, "I was to marry you, and _you _cast me away, remember?"

Her words seemed to anger him.

"I cast you away because you are a traitor's daughter and unworthy of being my queen!"

"I realize that, Your Grace. Your Grace was wise not to sully himself with me, and let the Tyrells have me."

He did not know how to respond to that: fortunately for Sansa, he was not given any more time to formulate a reply:

"_Well_," Lady Olenna's voice rose, loud enough to be heard in the whole sept, "Were we not here for a wedding? I seem to remember we were here for a wedding. Of course, I can't know for sure until the bride is escorted to her husband and the ceremony can actually _start._"

Sansa had never felt so grateful to anybody in her entire life: his face still flushed with anger, Joffrey began walking, slowly leading her to Loras. On their right stood the Tyrell family, smiling: on their left stood the Lannisters, sulking. Margaery was right: they didn't take the news very well. Joffrey's grasp was still firm around her arm, and she knew she should not have provoked him, but she did not care about it anymore: her blue eyes were set on Loras. _Just a couple more steps and I'll be with my Knight of Flowers, just a couple of steps and I'll be free of Joffrey..._

Finally, they reached their destination, climbing the final steps towards Loras, and Joffrey left. Ser Loras had always been handsome, but this day Sansa found him particularly beautiful: tall and lean, clad in green and gold just like her, with soft curled hair and a kind smile on his lips. In his hands he held a Tyrell cloak, carefully folded. _He told me he wanted a bride in gold and green_, she remembered, _The most beautiful bride in the world... does he find me to his liking?_

Once she was in place next to her husband-to-be, the septon looked at Loras.

"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."

"By the Sevens, _finally_," she heard Lady Olenna sigh as she moved her upper body slightly, turning her back on him so that he may switch the cloaks.

As she did so, her eyes met with Tywin Lannister's, who stared at her with such intensity that he seemed to think his glare alone could stop the ceremony. Right next to him stood Joffrey and his mother, both of them seeming as angry as the Hand, although probably not for the very same reasons. Loras' hands unclasped the Stark cloak and replaced it with the Tyrell cloak: the new cloak was heavy with green velvet and golden embroideries, yet Sansa had never felt so light. _He protects me_, she thought, _My knight protects me, Joffrey and the queen can't harm me anymore._

"Your Grace, Your Grace," the septon said towards Joffrey and Cersei, "My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever..."

The rest of the ceremony was like a dream to Sansa: everything felt blurred until it was done and Loras took her hand and kissed it gently.

"You look absolutely radiant, my lady."

She smiled.

"Thank you, my lord. You are most handsome as well."

_It is done,_ she reflected as they walked down the stairs under the cheers, _Done, done, I am Sansa Tyrell, Lady of Highgarden, the Lannisters and Joffrey can't hold me here anymore, they can't hurt me anymore_.

"Ah, finally-"

Lady Olenna smiled to her warmly as Margaery hugged her and congratulated her. Her smile refusing to leave her lips, Sansa hugged her back before nodding her head respectfully towards her grandmother.

"I thank you, my lady, for your help earlier today."

She knew full well that Lady Olenna had only voiced her impatience so that Joffrey would stop tormenting her.

"Oh it was nothing," Olenna dismissed her with a wave of her hand, "Nothing at all, really."

As Olenna walked away to sit down, Sansa heard a man's voice raising:

"Lady Sansa, you look more beautiful than ever."

The voice belonged to Mace Tyrell: Sansa, out of reflex, gave him a polite curtsy.

"You are too kind, my lord. I'm just so happy. I'm really glad and grateful that you would welcome me in your family."

"It is a pleasure to have you join us, Lady Sansa."

The rest of the Tyrells followed, each of them congratulating her and welcoming her in the family. Sansa politely thanked them, and it went on and on until Olenna's voice rose again:

"Is there going to be a feast?" she asked. "I'm quite hungry, and I've always thought the highlight of any wedding was the food."

On those wise words, the guests started leaving the sept to make their way back to the Red Keep: Sansa walked out with a newly found confidence, her arm under Loras' and a smile plastered on her lips.


	2. Man and wife

**Chapter 2: Man and wife**

The feast had been going on for quite a while, people eating and chatting together, when Loras finally spoke to her:

"If you will pardon me, my lady," he said, "I have a few words to exchange with Margaery. I won't be long."

_He's bored with me_, Sansa thought, _He hasn't spoken to me ever since we left the sept, he does not want this, he does not want me_. Although mortified by the prospect, Sansa politely nodded and he got on his feet, leaving her alone as he made his way towards Joffrey's bride-to-be.

Loras bend over to whisper to Margaery:

"A word, sweet sister."

"Yes, Loras, what is it?" she asked, taking a sip of wine.

He cleared his throat.

"A private word, if I may."

Margaery frowned a little, not knowing where this was going, but she excused herself to her cousin nonetheless and walked away with Loras, outside of the banquet room.

"What is it, Loras?" she asked for the second time.

"I don't think I can do this."

"Why not? Sansa is a nice, clever girl, you'll like her when you get to know her."

"I meant _tonight_."

When his sister feigned ignorance and incomprehension, he sighed in annoyance. She knew full well what he was talking about, he was sure of it: she just liked to lead him on.

"I don't think I can please her."

"Is that what you are worried about? By the Seven, Loras, you are over-thinking this. She's a sweet girl who's been through way too many horrible things: all she truly needs is a kind man with a gentle heart, and this is what you are."

"I don't think it works that way for me. I - you very well know -"

He glanced around to make sure nobody was in their vicinity.

"You very well know that I like _swords_," he managed to say. "I'm much more into swords than sheaths. Does my sword even want a sheath? And despite quite a lot of swordplay, I have no experience whatsoever with _sheaths, _I won't know-"

"Loras," Margaery cut him, "You. Are. Over. Thinking. This. Be considerate and gentle to her and the rest will come."

She gave him a smirk.

"Plus, your swordplay gives you a different insight on this whole thing. How many men can say that they understand what this feels like?"

"_Margaery! _This is no laughing matter!" 

* * *

><p>"I seem to have lost my betrothed," Joffrey's voice said behind Sansa's back, causing her to freeze. "And you your husband."<p>

Her grasp on her cup of wine tightened: she had left her seat at the table to walk around the room a little, but as soon as she heard the king, she deeply regretted leaving the table of honor. She made her lips smile politely to him.

"My lord wanted a word with Lady Margaery, Your Grace," Sansa replied. "They should not be long."

"They can take their time," he said. "It is you I was looking for."

"Truly?" she carefully asked. "What business could Your Grace have with one such as me?"

He grabbed her free wrist tightly.

"How _dare_ you presume to speak to me the way you did at the sept?" he asked, his fingers digging deeper into her flesh, "How_ dare_ you talk back to me?"

Sansa closed her eyes. She knew she shouldn't have spoken, she knew it. He bent over, whispering to her:

"Do you think you are above my reach because your are married to the _Knight of Flowers?_ When he's through with you tonight and sleeps tight, what'll stop me from paying you a visit? Small good his flowers are going to do to him when I fuck you bloody. Would you like that?"

He moved back, still holding her wrist, his face cruel and ruthless as she shook her head.

"You wouldn't? It won't matter. I'll ask Ser Meryl to hold you down if you won't behave, but I'll have my way with you one way or another."

"Sansa."

Sansa felt a protective hand on her shoulder, and Joffrey's fingers finally let go of her. Sansa turned her head to the side and saw Loras.

"I am sorry to intrude, Your Grace, but I've been told by my lord father that the dancing was about to begin and we are requested to open it."

And without another word to Joffrey, Loras led her away.

"I thank you, my lord," she whispered.

"Loras," he said, "My name is Loras. You needn't be so formal with me anymore: we are husband and wife."

She gave him a smile, still shocked by Joffrey's threats.

"I thank you, Loras."

Loras frowned, his fingers touching the red marks that Joffrey had left on her porcelain skin.

"Did he do this to you?"

For a moment Sansa feared that he would turn around to threaten Joffrey, and this was the last thing she wanted.

"No, please, please, let it go, don't provoke him-"

"Did he?" Loras insisted.

"It's nothing," she quickly replied, "Nothing, he's done far worse, and I promise you I no longer fear him now that I am by your side."

Loras shook his head, glancing around the room.

"A horrible place," he said.

"The most horrible in the entire world," Sansa agreed. "I can't wait to see Highgarden."

"Is there going to be _dancing_," Lady Olenna's voice rose yet again, "Or is this no longer a thing in weddings?"

All eyes turned on them, and Sansa blushed, putting down her cup of wine on a tray held by servants before Loras took her hand and led her to the center of the dancing area. Sansa was a good, elegant dancer, and so was Loras: soon the guests joined the newly wed couple, and as they were all dancing, almost no one paid attention when Ser Loras leaned in and kissed her softly. The kiss was gentle and chaste, and Sansa - against her better judgement - was reminded of her first kiss with Joffrey.

"Well well," Joffrey's voice rose, "Our new couple seems to be eager to _go on_."

His eye met with Sansa's: there was a cruel glee in them that made her shiver.

"I believe we should help them!" he claimed, "Don't you agree?"

The men cheered and the women giggled.

"Let's get rid of her gown - she won't need it anymore - and carry her to her wedding bed!"

Sansa gasped when the first man got a grab of her hand to pull her towards the group. _This is necessary_, she told herself as they dragged her out of the room, _This is necessary, and tomorrow this will all be behind me, and my marriage to Loras will be unbreakable, and I'll be allowed to leave this place_. She closed her eyes when someone yanked at the silky gown, tearing the delicate fabric. _This is no worse than the time Joffrey had me stripped in front of the court_, she tried to reason herself, _This is nothing, it's just a tradition, no harm can come to me tonight_. She chastely covered herself when her gown was torn open, leaving her with nothing but her undergarment, and tried to ignore the lecherous whistles.

"I'd gladly let myself be called the Knight of bloody _Flowers_ if it meant I could bed_ that_," one of them noted.

_They won't touch, they can't touch, only Loras_. As they passed the door to the bedroom that had been granted to them for the night, the rest of her clothes were removed from her and Mace Tyrell himself carried her gently to the bed. She had just been installed on the large bed when the giggling women came in dragging Loras, as naked as she was: and then as quickly as they had all came in, they all left together, leaving the newly wed couple alone and naked. Her hair had been undone when she was dragged through the castle, the red curls falling down her shoulders and hiding her small breasts.

Sansa felt herself blushing under his gaze, fearing what was going on in his head. Why was he looking at her like that? She had always imagined that, on her wedding night, her husband would be very passionate and much more eager to take her maidenhead. Did he find her so unattractive that he would refuse to bed her and try to have the wedding cancelled? Or was she supposed to do something? Should she try to get closer to him? Should she kiss him? _No, that's not right, that's not how it goes_, she thought. _He's supposed to want me, not the other way around_.

There was tension in the room, yet none of them would talk or move, until Sansa couldn't take this heavy silence anymore:

"I'm... I'm not sure how this is supposed to go from there," she confessed.

_To be fair, neither am I_, Loras reflected, but he kept that thought to himself. Feeling quite uncomfortable, he sat on the edge of the bed, glancing at her yet again. Her beautiful auburn hair had been braided and twisted all day long, making her normally straight hair wavy as it fell down her shoulders and on her breast: the fiery color of her hair contrasted strongly with her pale porcelain skin, and her bright blue eyes looked at him uncertainly - only when he met with her eyes did he realize that he had been staring at her for over a minute without moving a muscle. He touched her hand, and her thin fingers entangled themselves with his. _She's shivering_, he realized as their hands joined, _Her whole body is shaking._

"Do I frighten you, Sansa?" he asked softly. "You're trembling like a leaf."

"I'm just..."

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down.

"I'm just nervous. I'm worried that I might be a disappointment to you."

Little did she know, her husband shared her fears and worries, but he could not possibly confess that to his bride: and to cover his inability to formulate a proper respond, he leaned in to kiss her lips gently. He touched her soft cheek with his free hand, his fingers trailing on her jawline until he felt the necklace that she had been wearing and that the men had left in place during the bedding ceremony. Gold and emerald. Tyrell colours, but more importantly, _his_ colours. _Renly wore green and gold too_, he remembered. And as he reminded himself of his lost lover, Loras deepened the kiss, his tongue seeking Sansa's, who responded timidly to his newly found fierceness: his hand found the roundness of a breast and Sansa gave a little moan, half in surprise and half in pleasure.

Loras' hand squeezed her firm bosom gently, sending goosebumps all over Sansa's pale skin, and she dug her fingers in his curled hair in an attempt to get closer: after a while his hand trailed down her flat stomach, and his fingers ran through her fiery curls until they found a spot that made her quiver. As Loras' lips left hers and began kissing her breast, Sansa felt her breath getting heavier under his touch: he was not in her yet, he was merely _touching_ her, how could this be? What could possibly be making her feel so good? She arched her back and felt her legs opening up lightly to his touch: he rubbed her gently right _there_, and a pleasured sigh left her mouth.

Her hips began moving uncontrollably, following his motion: there was a fire burning in her, a fire that she felt had always been there and was merely being awakened by his fingers: and as her pleasure built up the fire grew bigger and warmer, until she lost control and threw her head back in the softness of the thick pillow, letting a faint scream escape her lips. Sansa felt her pleasure exploding like a volcano, crashing down on her body like a tidal wave. She could feel herself burning hot and soaking wet between the legs, and she barely had enough time to feel self-conscious about it before realizing that Loras was between her legs, his erected manhood brushing against her womanhood. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and only then did Sansa realize that he had been holding her right hand this whole time.

"I'm sorry," he told her in a hushed voice, "I'm told that this is bound to hurt."

She managed to curve her lips in a smile.

"I'm ready," she assured him.

Loras began entering her slowly, and Sansa's eyes widened when she felt him pushing against her maidenhead. Her grasp on his hand tightened as he went on, the pain making her tear up a little: it felt like a very firm pinch on her fragile flesh, but despite digging her pristine nails in his skin she did not utter a word of complain, and eventually he was completely inside, holding still so that she could adapt. She slowly breathed in, trying to relax as muscles that she didn't even know existed tried to adjust to his length and width.

"Are you alright?" Loras asked.

When she nodded, he began moving inside of her at a slow pace: the pain was still there, this burning sensation inside of her, and yet as Loras thrust into her, Sansa could feel something else progressively building up inside of her. Either this new found pleasure lowered the pain or the pain hindered the pleasure, she could not quite figure out, but as Loras steadily picked up a faster pace inside of her she found herself moaning softly: her hands behind her husband's neck brought him closer, holding him against her.

It didn't take very long for him to reach his peak: burying his face into her neck, he heaved a pleasured sigh to her ear as he lost himself inside of her for one final thrust. Just a few seconds later, he pulled out and laid next to her: although she was still aching a little, she could feel his seed inside of her. _I wonder if I'll be pregnant. Mother said Father got her pregnant with Robb on their wedding night_.

Sansa tilted her head to the side, looking at Loras, who was already half-asleep, and suddenly Joffrey's threats came back to her.

"M-my lord," she asked hesitantly.

"Is something the matter?" he asked, worrying that he'd done something wrong.

"Would you do me a favour?"

He frowned, and she felt herself blush.

"Can you... would you mind..."

She bit her lower lip.

"Would you mind holding me?" she finally whispered after gathering enough courage.

He considered her for a short while before finally putting his arm around her small shoulders and bringing her closer. Feeling safe for the first time since her father had been imprisoned, Sansa quickly fell asleep, a discreet smile lingering on her lips.


	3. Sunlight

**Chapter 3: Sunlight**

The gentle sunlight that went through the curtains slowly woke up Loras. On his left side he could still feel the warmth of Sansa's body, and he realized that he had fallen asleep while holding her. Initially, he had planned on holding her until she fell asleep - which she apparently needed to feel safe - and then let go and sleep on his side of the bed, not to cuddle her for the whole night, but here he was, his arm still around her small shoulders.

She slept peacefully by his side and his eyes studied her: it was hard to imagine that such a delicate young lady had endured so much in the past months - having her father executed before her eyes, losing her sister and two of her brothers, being sequestrated in King's Landing - it seemed too much for a lifetime, even for an old crone, let alone a young woman like Sansa. And that was only what he _knew_. The Gods only knew what sort of torments Joffrey had put her through since her father had died.

_I'll ask Ser Meryl to hold you down if you won't behave, but I'll have my way with you one way or another_.

He had acted as though he had not heard the king's words, because starting a fight with the king that was to marry his sister on his wedding feast would not do, but he had - and Sansa had looked so unfazed by them that he dared not imagine what threats she had previously heard from his mouth that this seemed like nothing to her. When he'd commented on the red marks left by Joffrey on her skin, she had assured him that it was nothing to reassure him, but Loras did not find it reassuring in the least as it left him wondering what kind of horrors he'd put her through in the past for it to seem so little. _She is not safe here_, he realized._The king will not stop tormenting her, she must leave for Highgarden soon_. He did not love her and he probably never would, but he still cared for her safety - she was supposed to be under his protection, after all.

Sansa stirred in her sleep, rolling a little to the right, which allowed Loras to free his arm and get up: carefully, he reached for his clothes when the door opened and a girl entered. Upon seeing Loras, who had still yet to put on any clothes, she shrieked and covered her eyes, her face immediately turning a deep shade of red.

"I'm sorry, m'lord," she blurted, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to - your lord father sent me to retrieve the sheets, I didn't think you'd still be here, I am so sorry-"

_Of course,_ Loras thought, _Father **knows** or at least suspects, so he'll want proof._

"Seven hells, girl," a young woman with a strong accent and dark curls said as she entered the room holding a food tray, looking absolutely unfazed by Loras' nakedness, "Have you never seen a cock before?"

This one was Sansa's handmaiden, he recognized her now, although he did not remember her name: the handmaiden put the food on the table and made her way to the bed as Loras fumbled to quickly put on some pants and regain some composure.

"Here, m'lady," the handmaiden said gently, "Let me help-"

He turned around and saw the dark-haired woman helping Sansa - who had been waken up by the ruckus - into silky dressing robes before walking off to the table with her.

"Thank you, Shae," Sansa whispered.

Shae rolled her eyes when she looked at the other servant, who was still covering her eyes.

"You can look now, he's decent."

The chestnut-haired girl walked up to the bed and quickly gathered the sheets before heading out without uttering a word: sitting at the table, Sansa studied her, her bright blue eyes following her all the way to the door.

"Is something the matter?" Loras asked as the door closed behind the girl.

"Who did she say send her?" Sansa asked, her eyes still lingering on the wooden door.

"My father sent her," he shrugged, "You should not concern yourself with this."

Sansa shook her head.

"Your lord father did not send this girl," she said, turning her attention on him. "I know her, she is one of the queen's handmaiden."

"I'll get her," Shae quickly said.

The handmaiden took a step towards the door, but Sansa stopped her with a hand on her wrist.

"Let her go," she simply said. "It's not exactly a secret what happened here last night."

_Let the queen see and know_, she thought, _let the whole lot of them know that I belong to him now. _Loras sat down in front of her, looking down at the food platter.

"Lemon cakes on a breakfast plate?" he asked, half-amused, half-confused.

"M'lady loves lemon cakes," Shae said, as though she was daring Loras to speak against it. "You should remember that."

"Shae," Sansa said reproachfully, "Be nice to him, please."

The handmaiden bowed her head.

"I'm sorry, m'lady. I will go get new sheets for your bed."

"Thank you."

The young woman left the bedroom, and Sansa smiled apologetically to Loras.

"I'm sorry if she gave you offense, my lord. She is not from here, and she can be a bit rude sometimes, but I assure you she means well."

He noted that she formally called him "my lord" again, but decided to let it go. Perhaps being so courteous was simply in her nature. Perhaps that it was how she felt safest.

"Not at all," Loras replied, "She seems to care about you."

"She does," the red-haired girl smiled. "She is very kind to me."

Now that they had been left alone, he found himself studying her again. She _was_ gorgeous: even a man of his_preference _could tell, although he'd wager that her beauty affected other men differently. He found her beautiful, but not in a way that made him attracted to her: it was akin to watching a piece of art to him. Other men would probably want to be in bed with her still, instead of sitting at the table, but he was perfectly content watching her eat a lemon cake.

"Are you not hungry?" she asked after noticing that he was not eating.

He shook his head.

"No, not yet. If you'll excuse me, Sansa, I need a word with my lord father."

He kissed her hand gallantly and left the room: Sansa barely had the time to take another bite from her lemon cake when someone knocked on the door.

"Yes?" she asked, her stomach twitching.

_Please don't be Joffrey, please don't be Joffrey, anyone but Joffrey_. The door opened on Margaery, and Sansa sighed with relief.

"May I come in, dear sister?" Margaery asked, beaming.

"Of course, Margaery!"

Sansa got on her feet to welcome her properly.

"You will need to excuse me for my attire," she said, "I was just getting up."

"Really?"

Her eyes slid towards the bed and came back to Sansa, a smirk creeping on her lips.

"How was he?"

"Margaery!" Sansa protested, feeling herself blushing.

"What?" she asked, sitting on the chair Loras had been occupying just a few minutes ago. "You can tell me. Every detail."

"I don't think I should - we don't speak of these things in the North-"

"Sweet girl, you're pretty far from the North now."

"And he's your _brother_," she continued, "It just does not feel _right_."

Margaery pouted.

"All right, no details. Be very generic."

Sansa couldn't help but laugh at her persistence.

"Is it true it hurts?"

"It does, but..."

She sat on her chair, staring at her lemon cake as though she had suddenly taken a deep interest in it.

"It was different from what I expected," she finally said.

"In what way?" Margaery asked, frowning.

"The only thing I was ever told about losing my maidenhead was that there would be pain. Loras was very gentle and considerate with me, he..."

Sansa blushed as she reminded herself of the way Loras had touched her, and the way she had moved alongside his fingers until the volcano inside of her exploded.

"It pleased me," she finally confessed, "I did not expect that it would, but it did, and that is all the information you'll be getting from me!"

* * *

><p>"Come in," Mace Tyrell's voice said through the closed door as soon as Loras knocked.<p>

Loras opened the door and stepped inside the room. His father was sitting at his table with Olenna, the both of them sharing tea.

"Loras?" Mace raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised. "What brings you here?"

"Father, may I speak to you in private?"

"Out of question," Olenna immediately objected before her son could even open his mouth, "This tea is absolutely delicious, and those figs, and this _cheese_. Besides, there is no moving these old bones without a major reason, and I can't think of something that you would want to tell your father that I cannot hear. Speak."

Loras cleared his throat. He would have hoped to speak to his father alone: that would have made the matter much easier than with his grandmother present.

"This is about Sansa," he carefully started.

"What of her?" his father asked.

"Sansa must leave King's Landing at once. She is not safe here."

"Gods be good," Olenna sighed, "The country is at war, the capital is not safe for _anyone_, yet you don't see its whole population leave. Your bride is no different."

"Sansa _is_ different," Loras insisted. "Joffrey-"

"_King_ Joffrey," Mace interjected.

Loras bit his tongue.

"_His Grace_ has threatened her. I want her out of the city and on her way to Highgarden, where she belongs as a lady of House Tyrell."

"Threatened her?" Olenna asked. "When? In what way?"

"I left her alone during our feast to discuss with Margaery - when I came back, she was no longer at the table. I went looking for her and found her with him. I overheard him - he threatened to rape her, said he would have Ser Meryl hold her down if she wouldn't behave. You should've seen her, grandmother," he insisted, "She looked completely unfazed - I can't begin to imagine the things he's told her or done to her before that_ this_ was nothing to her."

"A mask," Olenna said, drinking a sip of tea, "I've met the girl, and the mask seldom drops, yet behind the mask she is scared and broken. Sansa survived this long in the Lannisters' custody because she is smart enough to know when to hide how she truly feels."

"I want her out of the city," the knight repeated.

"I suppose this can be arranged."

"No," Mace dryly replied.

Loras was taken aback by his father's tone.

"Father?"

"I said no. You are not leaving this city until your sister is wed to the king, and Sansa is not leaving the city while you are still here: I will not have what happened to Margaery's wedding to Renly happen with yours to Sansa. You will do what he failed to do."

"Meaning?" Loras asked, upset at the insult he could feel directed towards his dead lover.

"Meaning you _will_ do your duty to this House-"

"I have d-" Loras tried to object.

"-and get the Stark girl pregnant with a Tyrell child," his father continued, deaf to Loras' attempt to defend himself. "Your sister did fantastic work bringing her to our side, I expect you to what needs to be done, it's not that complicated. She will leave this city with you by her side or with your child inside of her, she will not leave it in any other way."

Loras' hand closed into a tight fist. He could seldom believe that his own father doubted him like that. _I have done my duty,_ he reflected, reminding himself of the night before, _I did what had to be done, how dare he?_

"Father-" he started.

"My word is final, Loras."

"Ah, yes," Olenna said, rolling her eyes. "The word of the Lord Oaf of Highgarden is all but _final._"

"Mother," he sighed.

"Have the girl watched over, at least," she said. "Have Tyrell guards with her when Loras can't be by her side. Unless you want the Lannisters to claim that Joffrey fathered her baby when she gets one, so that they may rip the North off our hands?"

Mace glared at her for a while, clearly unhappy to be spoken this way in front of his son, but he eventually gave in:

"This will be done," he said.

Loras exchanged a quick glance with his grandmother. _Thank you,_ his eyes said, _thank you, thank you, thank you. _She gave him a subtle nod, and he left the room.


	4. Getting closer

**Hi all, **thanks a lot of the kind reviews and favouriting and following this story! Your support means a lot to me, keep it up ;)

**Chapter 4: Getting closer**

"Tighter around the waist," Olenna ordered.

"Grandmother," Margaery laughed, "Make it any tighter and she won't be able to breathe."

"_Hush._ Do as I say, girls."

As the handmaidens obeyed, the older woman nodded.

"Good. The jewels, now, my little birds."

To her ring finger, a handmaiden slid a golden ring with a square emerald as another girl tied a delicate golden chain to her neck, on which a golden rose pendant dangled.

"Excellent," she commented. "Show her."

They turned a large mirror towards her, one that was big enough for her to see her whole person, and Sansa was left speechless: her hair had been styled in the manner of the Highgarden ladies, and her gown was green and silky with golden embroideries on her upper body, her skirts light and floating at her every movement. It resembled Margaery's gowns in the style, only it was much more magnificent: it was more beautiful than anything Sansa had ever wore before, save for her wedding gown - this was a_woman_'s gown, one that showed the shape of her body rather than hide it, one whose wearer wanted to be seen, not to blend in. When she had first come to King's Landing, she had been barely more than a child, wearing pretty little gowns that were light pink or sky blue, gowns that were cute and innocent. When Joffrey had cast her aside for Margaery, she wore darker tones, trying not to get noticed around the court: this gown would definitely draw attention to her.

"It's so beautiful," she managed to say. "Thank you, Lady Olenna - I feel like this is too good to be true. This is much more than I deserve."

"Nonsense," Olenna replied. "You've been a Tyrell for a week now, it's highly time you ditch those grey gowns and start looking like one of us. Now, your job here is done, squatter along, my little birds."

The handmaidens left the room, leaving Sansa alone with Margaery and her grandmother.

"You are gorgeous," Margaery said, giving her hand a squeeze, standing next to her in the mirror. "Now we really look like sisters. I've always dreamed of a sister."

"I used to have a sister," Sansa whispered. "But she's gone now."

Her stomach twitched as she thought of Arya: fiery, stubborn, boyish Arya. Half of the time, she would not even accept to acknowledge her as her little sister in public, because Arya was always found running or climbing somewhere, getting her skin dirty and her hair messy: it was not lady-like, it was not _proper, _and so Sansa tried to pretend she did not know her. _She was angry with me,_ Sansa remembered, _Ever since I did not stand up for her in front of the king and the queen, and Joffrey. I'm so sorry, Arya, I was a fool, I'm sorry, little sister, I should've known what he was when he threatened you, please forgive me, I was blind_. She had turned her back on her sister that day, and yet when the queen had threatened Lady, Arya had been swift to come to her defense. _I was weak, I was a stupid little girl, if only you were there now I could make you forgive me_.

"I'm so sorry," Margaery said, "I forgot, I didn't mean to remind you of your loss."

"It's okay," Sansa managed to say. "It's been long enough that I've healed."

"Shall we go for a walk in the gardens?" she suggested with a smirk. "I want to see men's jaws drop as you walk by."

"_Margaery!_"

There was a knock on the door.

"Yes?" Sansa said, wondering who that might be.

She was surprised when the door opened on Jaime Lannister, clad in white and gold.

"My ladies," he said, giving them a small bow of the head, "I'm sorry to disturb, I would like a word with Lady Sansa."

"Well, speak, Kingslayer," Lady Olenna replied, watching him with clear disdain.

He seemed to bite his tongue at the insult.

"I would speak to her _alone_."

Olenna gave a little laugh.

"I'm afraid that is not going to happen."

Jaime sighed.

"Has she lost her tongue that you need to speak in her place?"

"I'll speak with him," Sansa softly said. "Margaery, if you do not mind, you can wait for me outside: Lady Olenna, thank you again for your generosity."

Even if she could not quite explain why, she trusted that he did not mean her any harm: perhaps it was the little girl inside of her whispering that a knight would not hurt a lady, and perhaps that foolish little girl was wrong again, but as Olenna and Margaery left her alone with the Kingslayer, she felt safe.

"How may I be of use to you, Ser?"

"The real question is how may _I_ be of use to _you_, my lady."

He took a step towards her.

"Our future queen is waiting for you, so I'll be brief: your mother freed me against your brother's will because I swore to her that I would bring you and your sister back to her, safely."

"Arya's gone," Sansa replied, "She hasn't been seen since Father was executed. She's likely dead."

"I feared as much," Jaime grimaced, "But there is still _you._ I can take you back-"

"Back _where?_" she asked. "Back to Winterfell? I know it has been burned down to the ground. There is only one place I belong now, and that is Highgarden."

"Your mother-"

"My mother wants me happy and safe. I will be happy and safe in Highgarden. This is the only place for me to go. I will not leave the city with you. I will leave it with the Tyrells."

"I made a promise," he insisted.

"I know you have," she replied, "And you are very kind to care for my well-being, Ser, but I free you of this promise. My lady mother will not fault you for this."

"Would you mind..."

He cleared his throat.

"Would you mind write her a letter to tell her this? I know this may seem futile to you, considering what I've done in the past, but I swore an oath to her."

"The queen and the king will not let me write to my traitor family," Sansa replied.

"I'll give it to the raven myself, I swear I won't tell my sister."

She considered him carefully, wondering for a short moment whether or not it was a trap before replying:

"Very well. Come back tonight, I will have it ready."

* * *

><p>"Your Grace," a man said as he hurried inside the commanding tent, "Your Grace, a raven came for you from the capital."<p>

The man knelt, handing the parchment to Robb: his mother, who had been sitting at a table, reading a book, stretched her neck as Robb unsealed the letter and began reading.

"Word from the capital?" Catelyn said. "Is it about the girls?"

Robb remained silent, his eyes still following the words.

"Robb, by the Seven, is this about your sisters?"

"Sansa," he simply replied.

"Is she well? Is she coming back?"

_He promised me, Jaime Lannister promised me, will he hold his promise?_

"I don't think that Sansa is coming back," Robb started.

Catelyn felt a cold, tight grip on her heart. _Dead, she's dead, Brienne failed and the Kingslayer died, and Cersei killed my sweet, sweet girl in retribution._ Taking a deep breath, she gathered her courage:

"Is she dead, Robb?" she found herself asking.

_Not her, not Sansa, not my innocent little girl, Gods I could not bear it, do not do this to me, I beg of you, not Sansa_.

"What?" Robb said, looking taken aback by her question. "No, no! Mother, I'm sorry if I made you think - Sansa is alive and well, she even wrote the letter herself, take a look."

He handed her the parchment, and Catelyn took it with the utmost care: they hadn't received anything from Sansa ever since Ned had been made a prisoner, and even then those were the queen's words written with Sansa's quill: her eyes followed the words, and when she was done she lifted them to stare at her elder son in shock.

"Married to Loras Tyrell?"

"It would seem so," Robb nodded. "It's Sansa's handwriting all right, and I don't see any reason for the queen to make her write these things if they were untrue."

She remembered the Knight of Flowers: young, handsome, brave, courteous: by all means, he was everything Sansa had been dreaming for. _The Tyrells are very generous with me, and Loras is gallant and kind to me: for the first time in months, I feel happy_, Sansa wrote. _Soon I will leave King's Landing for Highgarden, and I do hope that you will be able to come and see me, dear mother, and maybe even Robb could come if I can talk Lord Tyrell into it._

"She could do far worse for a match," Catelyn noted. "Ser Loras seemed like a good man when I saw him, but I wonder what Mace Tyrell hopes to gain by doing this. He marries his son to the daughter of a traitor, the sister of a man who's in open rebellion against the king he's wedding his daughter to - _why?_ It can't be out of pure kindness towards Sansa."

"He marries his son to the heir to Winterfell," Robb flatly replied. "That is what he is doing. He's ambitious, I'll give him that: he sits his daughter on the throne and secures the North with his son, all in a day's work."

Catelyn arched an eyebrow.

"I seem to remember that you are still alive," she stiffly said. "Winterfell is _yours_."

"I may be for now, but I may not be for long. I'm at _war,_ Mother, as you just said. If any harm comes to me, with Bran and Rickon dead, Winterfell is Sansa's birthright. If I die, the armies of the Reach will pledge their swords to Sansa to reclaim Winterfell for her, and Loras Tyrell will rule the North in her name until their son comes of age. Mace Tyrell marries his two children into families that are at war with each others, it's a bold move, but still..."

He slammed his hand on the table.

"A Tyrell may just sit in Father's place and Sansa is happy about it, Seven Hells!"

"Your sister does not see this," Catelyn said reproachfully. "She is fourteen years old, Robb. You cannot fault her. She does not think of heirs, or succession - if Ser Loras is kind to her, and if he will take her out of King's Landing for good, I doubt that she can find it in herself to care about anything else. And, more importantly, you are not dead, so please stop talking like you are."

_I shudder to think of the torments this child king put my sweet daughter through. I hope he makes her happy - she deserves as much with all that she must have endured_. She looked down at the letter again. _Ser Jaime offered me to help me leave the city,_ her daughter wrote, _It is thanks to him that I can write to you today. It is important that you know that I refused him. He kept his word to you, Mother, I am the one who said no. I do not want to leave my husband's side, I hope that you can understand me. _Catelyn shook her head in disbelief. _The Kingslayer did not break his promise to me,_ she thought, _who would've guessed?_

"I need an heir," Robb decided, "I need a _Stark_ heir. Fetch me a quill, paper and ink," he ordered towards the man who had brought the message.

"Yes, your Grace."

Catelyn shook her head as the man left the tent.

"Robb, Sansa is your only living sibling, there is no going around that. You are not going to create yourself a new heir out of thin air with some ink on a piece of paper," she said, trying to reason him.

"Sansa's not my only living sibling," Robb replied "I have a brother at the wall."

Catelyn had to bite her tongue, taking the blow to her honor.

"You would strip your sister from her birthright for _Jon Snow_?"

"No," her elder son said, taking the quill and paper that had been brought to him, "I would strip the Tyrells from the North for Jon _Stark_."

* * *

><p>It was late when Loras entered his bedroom that night: he expected Sansa to be sleeping, but instead she sat on an couch, doing needlework. She wore deep blue dressing robes with silvery embroideries, and her hair was down, free from any braids, twist or accessories: the only embellishment she wore was the gold and emerald ring that his grandmother had given her after the wedding. She lifted her eyes from her work and smiled softly.<p>

"You're up late," he commented.

"I was waiting for you," she replied.

"You shouldn't have, I never quite know when my day'll be over."

"I don't sleep very well when I'm alone," she confessed.

As he approached her, she was quick to hide her needlework in her basket. He frowned.

"Why are you hiding it?"

"I'm not _hiding_ it," Sansa said, her cheeks turning red, "I'm just putting it away to continue tomorrow."

He refrained a smile: he was slowly getting to know her, and she was a pitiful liar, that he knew already.

"Then can I see it?"

"N-no."

"Why not?" he asked, sitting beside her.

"It's just needlework, I doubt you would find it interesting."

"My sister tells me you're very talented. I would very much like to see it."

"Not this one, I'm afraid it won't turn out very well, I tried something and it's not very good, I- my lord, don't-" she protested as he stretched his arm over her and took her work out of the basket.

Loras' breath was taken away when he saw the project she had been working on: she had made a wolf sleeping under a rosebush, and was starting to write a word at the bottom of her needlework, but so far had only made a "L".

"Sansa, this is beautiful, why wouldn't you let me see it?"

"I shouldn't, I'm not supposed to, please, _please_ don't tell anyone you saw this, I'm not allowed to-"

"Not allowed to _what_?" he frowned.

It did not make sense to him that she would not be allowed to do needlework, and then it hit him with the strength of ten dragons - the wolf was the sigil of her house, and house Stark had been branded as traitors to the throne. _I'm such an idiot,_ he mentally flagellated himself, _Of course_ _Cersei and Joffrey won't let her have this._

"They won't let you have anything that reminds you that you're a Stark, won't they?" he asked softly.

She shook her head, tears coming up her striking blue eyes.

"They took _everything_," she said, "They took my gowns and cloaks from the North, they took my Stark medallion, they took everything that I had that had a wolf on it, they took my Septa, they took my father's life, even his _sword_, and they took Bran and Rickon and Arya, and they made me say over and over how treacherous my family has been and how they should all die, and Joffrey had me beaten and stripped in court in front of everybody because my brother won a battle against the Lannisters, and they even took Lady, the queen forced my father to kill Lady even though she was _good_-"

As Sansa burst into tears, Loras felt extremely foolish for asking: not knowing what else to do, he put his arm around her shoulders and held her close as she sobbed. He could scarcely blame her: losing loved ones was enough, losing your identity was too much.

"When I take you to Highgarden," he whispered, "I'll let you have all the Stark banners and all the wolf medallions and all the sleeping wolves needlework you desire, I promise you. It's not right that they'd take away who you are."

He kissed her forehead and held her against his chest until her tears dried out.

"May I ask who's Lady?" he asked, caressing her hair gently.

"Lady was my direwolf," Sansa sniffed. "Back in Winterfell, my brothers and my father found a dead mother direwolf and her pups. Father and Greyjoy wanted the pups killed, but Jon told my father that there were five pups, three males and two females, like the five trueborn Stark children. There even was a sixth one, all white and apart from the rest of the litter for Jon. They brought them back home, and we chose one each, we fed them and raised them and cared for them. Lady was beautiful and proper, I taught her how to be nice and how to behave well around people."

Loras had a faint smile. Only Sansa could name a direwolf _Lady_ and teach her how to be _proper_.

"So what happened to her?"

Sansa sniffed.

"When we were on our way to King's Landing - my father, my sister, the royal family and I - Arya had a fight with Joffrey and he threatened her. Nymeria - Arya's wolf - attacked Joffrey to protect Arya. The queen wanted Nymeria dead for what she did to Joffrey, but she was nowhere to be found - I'm guessing Arya sent her away to protect her - and the king didn't want to waste gold and time hunting her down, so the queen-"

Sansa's voice broke.

"The queen said that they had another wolf at their disposal and my father had to kill Lady even though she wasn't even _there _when it all happened, because he did not want to upset the king and because I was too stupid to stand up to Joffrey for my sister."

"Maybe it was better for Lady in the end," he said, "Imagine the things Joffrey could've done to her just to hurt you."

She did not reply, and he cupped her face between his hands.

"It'll all be over soon," he promised. "I'll take you with me to Highgarden and you will never, ever see this horrible place again. You believe me, don't you, Sansa?"

"Yes," she replied after reading his face for a while, "I do believe you, Loras."

She smiled softly and she leaned in, kissing him tenderly on the lips: just a few seconds after she broke the kiss and looked away, blushing, and he realized it was the first time she had taken the initiative to kiss him.

"I'm sorry," she said, "That was improper of me, I don't kn-"

With a hand behind her head, he stopped her apologies by sealing her lips with a kiss: as she responded shyly to his kiss, her tongue playing timidly with his, he brought her closer and closer, until she sat on his lap. He moved on to kiss her neck and she threw her head back, sighing with pleasure as she dug her fingers in his curled hair. His hands quickly found the silky waistband and loosened it until the blue fabric ran down her milky skin and fell down, revealing her naked body to the lights of the candles and the moon.

Their hands quickly unfastened his belt, and soon he was sliding inside of her, her tightness adjusting to him with more ease than on their wedding night. Her face flushed when she realized that in this position, he could not very well dictate the rhythm of their lovemaking, and that it would be up to her.

"Maybe we should not be like this," she whispered.

"Why not?" he asked, his hand caressing her cheek.

"I just don't know _how_," she confessed.

_And Margaery said **I **was over-thinking it._

"Move the way that it will please you. Don't think, just feel. Don't be ashamed."

She took his hands in hers and put them on her hips, giving him a faint smile.

"Guide me," she whispered.

Gently, he began guiding her motions, helping her as she moved her bassin slowly on top of him, but soon he found that Sansa did not need his guidance anymore as she gained confidence and assurance. She sighed with pleasure as she rode him with more and more vigor, using his shoulders to support herself: she threw her head back and a faint scream left her lips, her whole body tensing, her muscles tightening around him, and Loras held her close as her body trembled and her voice moaned softly. With only a couple of jerky moves from her hips, he found himself sent over the edge as well, holding her tightly as his climax hit him.

Their eyes met, and she smiled: she seemed happy, a strong contrast with her earlier emotional breakdown.

"Time for bed?" he asked.

"I agree."

She laughed as he lifted her in his arms, carrying her to their bed.


	5. Duties

**Chapter 5: Duties**

Sansa was sitting in front of her mirror as Shae undid her auburn hair: it was late already, and Loras was still not there, but as her handmaiden started running the brush through her soft hair, she felt sleepy enough to go to bed once they would be done with this. When the door opened, she smiled and turned her head to great her husband, but the smile was quick to fade from her lips when she saw that it was not Loras, but Joffrey and Ser Meryl.

"Your Grace," she blurted as Shae placed herself between the two of them, "I-I was not expecting-"

"Ser Meryl," Joffrey casually said, "Handle the servant, will you?"

"Get off me!" Shae snapped when the knight took her arm and started leading her outside the room, "Get your filthy hands off me!"

She slapped him with all her strength, the loud _clack_ resonating in the room, but he paid her no mind and dragged her out the room, slamming the door behind them.

"Let go of me!" she yelled, struggling to free herself from his grip.

Shae slapped the knight again, grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled with all the strength that she could muster, and the pain surprised him enough that his grasp on her wrist loosened and she managed to break free. Without losing a single second she began running down the hallway: she needed to find Ser Loras, and quickly.

* * *

><p>"Is that wise, Your Grace?" Sansa asked.<p>

Her own voice sounded strangely emotionless to her ears.

"Wise?" he asked, getting closer to her.

"Is it wise to do such a thing when Loras might just-"

"Your precious Knight of Flowers is sparring with my uncle Jaime," Joffrey smirked. "That should keep him busy long enough."

Sansa took a slow, deep breath. She couldn't hear Shae's protestations anymore: either Ser Meryl had done something terrible to her or she had escaped his grip, and if that was the case she knew that her handmaiden would be looking for Loras - the question was, could she find him quick enough?

"Still," she carefully said, not daring to move a muscle, "Is it wise to angry the Tyrells just to have me? Your Grace is about to marry Lady Margaery-"

"Oh, no, no, no," the king replied, running his fingers through her hair, "The Tyrells won't be angry with this, because the Tyrells won't _know_."

He gave her long hair a pull, causing her to cry out and her eyes to tear up: another pull and he forced her on her feet, pressing her against the vanity, his body pushing into hers.

"You won't tell," he continued, his hand finding her throat, "If you utter a single word about tonight to anyone, I'll have you killed like I had your father killed. And your _brother._ And your _mother_."

His words hit her like a physical blow. She shook her head frenetically.

"My lady mother and my brother Robb are not _dead!_"

"Look again," he said, a cruel smirk curving his lips, "Walder Frey had to do the dirty work, but a raven bearing this great news came in today."

_No,_ she thought, _no, that can't be right, I promised to my mother that she could come to Highgarden, and Robb was going to be there too, Lord Tyrell had agreed to it - I was finally going to see my family again_. She wanted to burst into tears, yet somehow she managed to hold it inside: the last thing she wanted to do was to gratify him with her tears and sobs.

"No tears?" he noticed. "We'll work on that."

His other hand began groping her breast through the silky fabric of her gown, and she grimaced. Not only was he rough, but her breast had been tense and sore lately, making the experience even more painful than intended.

"Please," she begged, "Please, don't, I have traitor's blood, you shouldn't-"

He gave the emerald fabric a yank, tearing a part of a gown that Lady Olenna had had made for her.

"Let go of me!" she bellowed.

She managed to push him away - she was, after all, as tall as he was - and moved away, trying to put some space between herself and the king, but before she knew it he was behind her again, seizing her waist.

* * *

><p>Shae was running: her legs were tired, her heart was pounding in her chest and her breath was short, but she was not slowing down. The yard was not too far now, and it was the first place she could think about to find Ser Loras: she knew that he trained a lot there. Finally, the training grounds were in sight, and she could see Loras sparring with a member of the Kingsguard.<p>

"M'lord," she shouted as she ran towards the two men, "M'LORD-"

She collapsed to her knees just a few feet away from them: Loras, who had been holding a tourney sword up high, reading to spar again, raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"What is it?" he asked.

"M'lady," the handmaiden panted, "The king-"

Loras felt his blood turning to ice.

"Where?"

"Y-your room, he's in your room with her, his knight threw me out, please, please do something-"

_I'll ask Ser Meryl to hold you down if you won't behave_. _The little **shit**._

"Shae, I need you to find my grandmother - you know my grandmother, Lady Olenna?"

The handmaiden nodded frenetically.

"Find her, no one but her, and her alone, and bring her there."

"I'll do what I can."

"Thank you," he quickly said before starting to run.

Once Loras was gone, Jaime crouched to bring his eyes to Shae's level.

"You mentioned a knight."

She glared at him and did not say a word, but he paid her no mind.

"Shae," he continued, "I am Ser Jaime Lannister, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Was the knight you mentioned one of us?"

"Ser Meryl," the handmaiden replied. "He's hurt m'lady before, the king made him hit her many times, she told me. One day after her brother won a battle, the king had Ser Meryl punch her in the stomach and beat her with the blunt of his sword, and he tore her gown in front of the whole court to teach her a lesson. Lord Tyrion stopped it."

_I am Lord Commander and no one thinks of telling me these things?_

"I'm going," he said, standing straight, "I need to take care of this."

* * *

><p>"Don't touch me," Sansa shrieked, crawling away from Joffrey on the bed.<p>

"Or else what?" he asked, a hand snaking up her thigh.

"GET OUT OF MY WAY," a voice shouted through the door, "LET ME THROUGH YOU BASTARD-"

The door opened violently on Loras and Ser Meryl: Meryl struggled to hold the Knight of Flowers back, and Joffrey glared at him.

"How in the seven hells did he get here so quickly?"

"The handmaiden," Ser Meryl grimaced, still struggling to hold Loras.

A twist of his wrist made Loras drop the tourney sword to the floor with a grunt of pain.

"You can't even handle a stupid servant girl? No matter," he said. "Give him a seat so that he may enjoy the view."

As Loras was forced on his knees by Ser Meryl, Sansa felt her eyes filling with tears again.

"Please," she pleaded, digging her eyes into Joffrey's, "Please don't make him watch."

Joffrey smirked.

"Why not?"

"I'll do what you want," she promised, "I'll behave, I swear it, I'll do anything, but _please_ let him leave."

_She's trying to save me, _Loras realized, _She doesn't want me to see what he'll do to her. __This isn't right_, _I'm supposed to protect and rescue her, not the other way around_.

"You'll behave?"

"Yes," Sansa replied, "I will, I promise, just let him go."

"What makes you think..."

Joffrey smirked as his hand reached her breasts again.

"What makes you think that I mind if you oppose me?"

She shrieked when he gave her gown a yank, tearing up the fabric that was covering her breast: with her arm she attempted to cover herself, only to have that arm pushed aside by Joffrey. _I have to do something_, Loras reflected, _And now._ The tourney sword was barely out of his reach: if he could make Ser Meryl let go of his shoulder, even for a split second, he would be able to get his hands on it. The sword was blunt, of course, but it was still heavy steel: a properly struck blow would certainly be enough to knock Meryl down.

With his left hand, Loras seized Ser Meryl's fingers and twisted until he heard a crack: as the knight cried out and lost his grip on his shoulder, his right hand quickly grabbed the tourney sword as he swiftly got up on his feet. Gathering all his strengths, Loras hit him on the side of the head with a blow that would certainly have been fatal had he been using an actual sword, and in less than one second he was pulling Joffrey's hair and forcing him away from Sansa.

"You will never torment her again," he growled, pushing him against the wall, "If I ever see you touching her, speaking to her or even _glancing_ at her, I will gut you. Your mother will not save you, your knights will not save you, your _crown_ will not save you."

"You cannot talk to me that way!" Joffrey protested, "I am the KING, I can do as I want!"

"I once served a king who did as he wanted," Jaime's voice flatly said as he entered the room. "Did your my sweet sister ever tell you how I dealt with the matter? Or your father, even? I would think King Robert would've told his son all about that story. He sure liked to remind _me_."

He walked towards Joffrey, stepping over Meryl's unconscious body.

"I ran him through with my sword," he continued, "And I was sworn to protect him. He didn't threaten me personally, he was just completely mad."

With his remaining hand, he firmly moved Loras aside to dig his eyes into Joffrey's.

"If you think that the people that you torment will not do anything because you are the king, you are going to have a short reign with a brutal end."

"Are you threatening me as well?"

"No, your Grace, I am giving you an advice."

"I want him thrown in the black cells!" Joffrey ordered, pointing Loras. "I want his head on a spike!"

Jaime's eyes followed Loras as he sat on the bed next to Sansa, unclasped his cloak and used it to cover her. He held her close to comfort her, and he could see that the girl, obviously very shocked, was struggling to hold tears inside. He sighed as he turned his attention back on Joffrey.

"Why, your Grace, did Ser Loras kill you?"

The question seemed to take Joffrey aback.

"No, he didn't, but he-"

"Then I have nothing to throw him in a cell for. I'm sworn to protect you, and I can see that no harm has come to you. So long as you do not die on my watch, my job is done."

"Are you disobeying me? You can't disobey me - you must do as I say, I am your KING!"

_And my son,_ Jaime thought bitterly. _Gods be good, how could I father a child like this? _Then again, he guessed that Cersei had a lot to do with this: he couldn't imagine Robert filling the boy's head with "kings do as they like" nonsense, but he definitely could picture his sister doing it. What he had just done was particularly reckless, though: by all rights, Lady Sansa was a Tyrell now, and the throne had enough enemies without adding the Tyrells, whose support they desperately needed, to the list. _I can't do this. I can't deal with crazy kings, not the way Father can - where is he when I need him? _He took a deep breath.

"If the state of her gown is any indication of what you were planning to do here," he replied, "You should probably leave this room, and consider yourself lucky that Ser Loras only struck you with words."

As Joffrey stormed out of the room, Jaime walked towards Ser Meryl: his eyes went from his body to Loras.

"Did you kill him?" he asked.

Loras shook his head, his arm still around Sansa's trembling shoulders.

"I only had the tourney sword."

"Good," Jaime said, crouching, "I want to deal with him myself."

With the back of his left hand, he slapped him across the face to wake him up: the knight groggily opened his eyes. The side of his head was swollen and bloody due to Loras' hit, but he was awake and alive.

"Ah, you're awake," Jaime beamed. "I was hoping you could tell me where in our vows it says that beating young girls and assisting in their rape is part of our duty. I must've missed that part."

"What?" he mumbled.

Meryl managed to sit up and spit a bloody teeth.

"You hit her before when she was still a child," Jaime continued, "You came here to assist him knowing full well that he wanted to rape her even though she is a married woman, what in the seven hells are you _doing?_"

"I obeyed my king," the knight replied, "Nothing more, nothing less."

"Our duty is to protect him, and that includes protecting him from _himself._ If the king wants you to strike an innocent child or help him when he wants to assault a married woman, you are expected to use your judgement, you imbecile. Can you not see that what he asks of you is wrong? Do you not have any honor?"

His sworn brother snarled and spit another teeth.

"I take no honor lessons from a man who killed his king, Oathbreaker."

"Right."

Jaime got up and forced Meryl to do the same.

"If you won't take a lesson from me, maybe you will take it from a night in a black cell."

Despite Ser Meryl's protests, Jaime dragged him outside: once they were gone, Loras turned his attention to Sansa: the tears she had struggled to hold inside were now running down her cheeks freely.

"Are you hurt?" he asked her.

She shook her head.

"No more, I swear," he whispered, "I'll have you leave for Highgarden tonight, and as my father said we can send a raven to your mother and-"

"My brother and my mother are dead," she sobbed, "Dead, he had them killed too, I will never see them again."

"I'm sorry."

He did not know what else to say: what words could he possibly use to comfort someone who had lost so much?

"My lord," Lady Olenna's voice rose, "The handmaiden was serious."

She looked upon Sansa, frowning at her tears.

"Did he force himself upon her?" she asked her grandson.

"He's tried."

"Loras arrived just in time," she said, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand. "He pulled him away from me and threatened to kill him if he tormented me again."

_Too late,_ Loras nearly said, _I was too late, he should never have been able to lay his hands on you, what little he did was already too much._

"Where were her guards?" Olenna asked. "She was supposed to be guarded at all times."

Loras shrugged.

"He must've send them away."

Olenna considered them in silence for a short while.

"Pack your belongings," the queen of thorns finally ordered. "You are leaving for Highgarden tonight. The _both_ of you."

"Margaery is to be married soon," Loras said, "I was supposed to stay in King's Landing until then, Father said-"

"The Lord Oaf will have very little to say or do against it. If he's bold enough to try to assault her with witnesses, she must leave before he succeeds, and if you are bold enough to threaten a king on her behalf, you must leave this city before you become another kingslayer."

She paused.

"I will make some arrangements for your escort. Meet me in my chambers in one hour."


	6. Twice married, twice widowed

**Chapter 6: Twice married, twice widowed**

As Loras started packing, Shae helped Sansa change in another gown, since Joffrey had torn the one she had been wearing.

"The night is cold," the handmaiden said, "You'll need your gloves, and a cloak. Here..."

Sansa couldn't help a faint smile as how motherly Shae was around her.

"Take good care of her," she said towards Loras. "_Please_."

"Aren't you coming with us?" the knight asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

"I belong here in King's Landing," she replied.

_I belong here with my Lion_.

"You are not from here," he noted, "What attachment could you possibly have in this city that you would prefer its dangers to the safety of Highgarden?"

"I have never been to Highgarden, m'lord," she simply replied. "I don't know if it's safe."

"This is ridiculous-"

"Let her," Sansa simply said. "If she doesn't want to come, she doesn't have to. And she doesn't have to tell me why."

Shae gave her a smile.

"Thank you, m'lady."

"Thank _you_," Sansa replied, "For everything."

The dark-haired woman gave her a nod before leaving the room: Loras and Sansa finished packing in silence. Sansa did not know how to feel: she was relieved to finally leave King's Landing, a place that had brought her nothing but torments, and yet she could not take it out of her mind that she was all alone in this world now: no brothers, no sister, no father, no mother - even her wolf was long gone. She looked down at the doll that she had just rested among her gowns in her trunk, and she sniffed.

"I was such an idiot," she whispered, touching the doll's cheek with the tip of her finger. "I'm so sorry, father."

As she began crying again, Loras glanced up at her: she picked up the doll - which, he guessed, had been once given to her by her father - and held it tight against her chest, her small shoulders shaking as she sobbed.

"I'm never going to see them again," she said, "Never, they're all _gone_ - Father used to say that when winter comes, the pack survives and the lone wolf dies, but he was _wrong_, my mother and my brothers, they weren't alone, they were together and they still died."

"And the lone wolf survived because she's clever and strong," Loras replied, getting closer to her.

With a hand to her back, he held her against his chest. He was not lying to make her feel better: he could see that only someone with incredibly inner strength and resilience would have survived in the custody of the Lannisters, and endured what she endured without going mad. _She thinks she is weak and fragile like glass,_ he reflected, _But she is steel. She truly is from the North._

"You're not alone anymore," he said, his arms around her, "I'm here with you, and soon we'll have a family of our own."

_Maybe sooner than you think,_ Sansa reflected. Her moon blood had been due the week before, and she was still waiting for it: still she dared not speak of it, not so soon, as she did not want to look silly if she was wrong.

"We should go," she finally said once her tears had dried out. "We should not keep your grandmother waiting."

She followed him in the corridors as he led her to her grandmother's apartments: with just one knock on the wooden door, it opened on Lady Olenna.

"Good, right on time," she said. "Follow me, I've arranged everything."

They followed her all the way through corridors that people seldom used and backstairs, until they reached the stable where half a dozen knights in Tyrell colours, a carriage and Loras' horse were waiting for them. Sansa glanced over her shoulder from time to time as the knights readied the luggage for them, looking back nervously at the Red Keep.

"It's not going to swallow you, child," Olenna commented when she noticed her.

"I just... I can't believe I'm finally leaving this place."

"It's a long way to Highgarden, but the place will suit you much better, I'm sure."

_Any place would suit me better than King's Landing_, Sansa reflected, but she kept that thought for herself as she was afraid it would come off as offensive to the other woman.

"Everything is packed, Ser, my ladies, we're ready to leave," a knight announced.

"Off you go, children, I would very much like to get back to my bed before the sun rises."

"Thank you for everything, my lady," Sansa said, giving her an elegant curtsy.

Lady Olenna simply smiled to her before leaving as Loras offered her his hand to get in the carriage: he then mounted on his horse and the carriage, as well as its escort, started moving. _I'm leaving,_ Sansa thought, her eyes still on the castle, _I'm leaving this place for good, Joffrey won't ever be able to hurt me again. _She found it hard to believe that her nightmare was finally over: in fact, she found it so hard to believe that she kept her eyes on the Red Keep - which was getting smaller and smaller every minute - until she could no longer keep herself awake.

* * *

><p>They had been riding for almost two weeks when a rider approached them, just as they were about to leave the inn they had slept in that night. The man, although he was clearly no knight, wore the sigil of House Tyrell and its green-and-gold colours.<p>

"Ser Loras," he knelt after dismounting his horse, "Your lord father sent me."

"What for?"

"The king is dead," he said.

There was a short silence: Sansa could hear her heart pounding in her chest. _Joffrey's dead? It can't be, the worst always survive. _Loras arched an eyebrow.

"And my lord father believes that this concerns me more than any other man to the point of sending you after me because...?"

"Your sister..."

The man shook his head, as though he could not believe it himself.

"Your sister Margaery stands accused of murdering him along with Lord Tyrion of House Lannister."

"What?" Loras blurted. "No, no, this does not make any sense, she couldn't, she _wouldn't_ - Margaery wouldn't hurt a dog if he bit her, much less plot to assassinate a king! King Joffrey was going to make her his _queen,_ why would they think that she is responsible for his death?"

"Queen Cersei is mad with grief," the man replied, "She was looking for someone to blame. King Joffrey's wine was poisoned, Lord Tyrion poured the wine, but your lady sister held the cup as well, and the poison was smuggled into the ceremony on one of her handmaiden's necklace, they say. They also say that as she was not poisoned, she must've put the poison in the cup herself to know when to drink from it and when to stop."

_I told her that he was a monster,_ Sansa reminded herself._ Did I make her conspire against him? Is she truly innocent?_

"You must go," she told Loras. "Margaery can't have a trial, the queen will pull the strings, she will frame her, I know it, you must go help her. The queen will give Margaery no true justice."

"Is that why you're here?" Loras asked the messenger. "Did my father send you to request my presence as Margaery's champion?"

"Yes, Ser, your lord father will have Margaery demand a trial by combat once they are done with the Imp's trial."

Loras glanced at Sansa apologetically.

"I'm sorry, I have to go back with him."

"Go," she said, "Margaery needs you more than I do now."

She gave his hand a squeeze.

"Please come back to me, my lord," she whispered so that only he would hear her, "Please."

He kissed her cheek softly, and shook his head when two of the knights in their escort broke apart.

"No," he said, "All of you will stay with Sansa."

"But, m'lord, what if-" one of them started to protest.

"I can defend myself from the what ifs," he replied. "My lady wife cannot. You will remain in the escort and see her safely to Highgarden."

"Yes, m'lord."

The man helped Sansa get in the carriage, and as her escort and her husband went on their separate ways, Sansa felt her stomach twitching. She believed Margaery innocent, and she knew that a trial by combat was decided by the gods, but to say that her faith had been shaken recently would have been an understatement. Her parents had been killed, her siblings had been killed: was she to lose her husband as well?

* * *

><p>Loras and the messenger rode days and nights, seldom stopping to eat, barely stopping to sleep: yet when he finally got to the Red Keep, the first thing he did was rush to his grandmother's chamber.<p>

"Where is she?" he asked as he stormed inside.

"Loras, thank the gods the messenger found you!"

She gave him an extremely out-of-character hug.

"Her trial begins tomorrow," she said, clearly distraught. "Your father has finally convinced her to demand a trial by combat."

"_Convinced_ her? What did she need convincing for?"

"Because she knew that as she stands accused of kingslaying, there will be but one man to stand for her in the arena. She did not want you harmed."

"Nonsense," he replied, "Who can the queen name as her champion that would worry me? Ser Gregor Clegane?"

"She can't. She named the Mountain as her champion for the Imp's trial by combat."

"Who stood for the Imp, I wonder?"

"Prince Oberyn Martell."

Loras raised an eyebrow.

"Doesn't he hate the Lannisters? All of them?"

"I suppose he hates some more than most," Olenna replied. "Ser Gregor killed him and won the fight, technically."

"_Technically?_"

"Well, he stands between life and death as we speak. Prince Oberyn's blade was poisoned. The queen won't be using him against you, unless she plan on betting her money on a living corpse."

Loras let the information sink in: who else did Cersei have at her disposal? Her brother who once would have been her first choice, no doubt, was now maimed, and, Loras knew it firsthand, far from being back to his original-self when it came to sword fight. Loras would not have liked facing the _actual _Jaime Lannister in a battle, the Jaime Lannister who still had his right hand, but for now, his left hand still felt queer to him: it would be folly for him to fight in a trial by combat. _Who, then?_ He supposed that she would turn to another knight of the Kingsguard, and Loras could not think of one of them that would make him worried. _I do hope that she chooses Ser Meryl,_ he reflected. _I owe him a sword to the guts._

"Can I speak to Margaery? Where is she?"

"In the dungeons," his grandmother bitterly replied, "They threw my sweet girl in a black cell. I don't know if they will let you see her."

He laughed.

"I can't wait to see which one of them proposes to keep me out."

* * *

><p>"Loras!"<p>

As his sister jumped to his neck, he hugged her tightly. She wore a very plain gown, and her hair was not styled.

"I'm here," he said, "It's going to be alright, I'm here for you."

"I did not do it," she sniffed.

Tears ran down her cheeks as she spoke.

"I did not do it, I did _not_ kill him, this is madness, Loras, the queen hates me, she would do or say anything to get rid of me-"

He cupped her face between his hands.

"I know, sweet sister, I know. You don't need to convince me. You don't need to convince anyone, I'll stand for you in the trial, kill whoever she sends against me, and no one will lay a single finger on you."

"What if she sends the Mountain against you?" Margaery asked, worried. "He nearly killed you once."

"Ser Gregor lays on his deathbed after fighting Prince Oberyn in the Imp's trial. The queen won't be using him."

"Lord Tyrion won his trial? Why am I even here then, the queen said I followed his instructions, but if he's _innocent_-"

"Oberyn Martell died in the fight, grandmother said."

"Then it was him," Margaery insisted, "Not _me._ They say the poison was in a necklace that one of my handmaiden wore to the wedding, and she says that I gave her that necklace, but it's a lie! I was about to get married to the _king_, do they think I had time to worry about my handmaidens' necklaces?"

She paced around the small cell a bit before sitting on the edge of what was supposed to be her bed, he guessed.

"I'm widowed again, why do the gods hate me so?"

"The gods have done you a favor. He would've been nothing but a cruel tormentor to you, as he was to Sansa."

She shook her head.

"No, he wouldn't have, I was different from her to him."

"You were no more than Sansa ever was: he might have held you in higher regards for now because he needed Father's support, but he was not stable, Margaery. He would've turned on you eventually, and I don't think you would've enjoyed bedding him in the slightest. He would've hurt you."

Again, Margaery shook her head.

"No," she said, "I played him like a well-tuned instrument, made him fall for me, he wouldn't have hurt me."

"Do you know why Sansa and I left King's Landing in the middle of the night?"

As she did not reply, he went on:

"We left because he tried to force himself on her and I had to pull him away from her, and the only reason I was there in time to save her is because her handmaiden is a fast runner. He had Ser Meryl hold me to the ground and he wanted to make me _watch _as he raped my wife."

He took her hand and gave it a squeeze as he sat beside her.

"Trust me, sweet sister. I would rather stand against three Gregor Clegane in the arena in your trial by combat than think of you married to a man who would do such a thing to a woman who isn't even his."

She leaned her head against his chest, and he put his arm around her shoulders.

"Twice married, twice widowed," she sighed. "What will become of me? People will think I am cursed."

"I'm sure Father will still be able to arrange a match for the most beautiful lady of Highgarden who comes with such an army behind her."

"I would've been queen," she said, "_The_ queen."

Loras said nothing to that: he had always been perfectly content with bringing pride to his father's name and knowing that he would come to be Lord of the Reach one day. With Robb Stark dead, the North was Sansa's if they could pry it away from the Boltons, and he would rule over it until they had a son that would come of age, and that prospect didn't particularly excite him. He would do it if needed, he simply was not _eager_ to do it. He had never wanted to "rise above", as he would rather treasure and perfect what he was and what he had than risk losing it all, but Margaery was different. Margaery had always been ambitious: even when they were children, she would strive to be the best at anything she attempted.

"I didn't want to ask for a trial by combat," Margaery admitted. "I knew you'd come for me, and I didn't want you to."

She glanced up at his face.

"I don't want you to die," she said. "If you feel that you're about to lose the fight, I want you to yield."

Loras snorted.

"I'm not about to _yield_ to whichever pretentious bastard the queen sends my way."

"Loras, listen to me."

She cupped his face between her hands, forcing him to look at her in the eyes.

"If I lose this trial, I die. If you die fighting for me, I die as well, as does our name. You are Father's only heir. It is better if only I die than if we both die. And you're married now, Sansa has gone through enough, she does not deserve to lose you. Promise me, Loras."

He sighed. You could trust Margaery to worry about him and his wife when she was on trial for regicide.

"Promise me," she insisted.

"I promise."

_I promise I will bring you home, sweet sister._


	7. The gods see all

**Chapter 7: The Gods see all**

"Father, give him courage."

Sansa was kneeling next to her bed, her eyes closed, her hands together.

"Warrior, give him strength."

The inn's bedroom was small, but clean, and that was hard enough to find these days. Two of the Tyrell knights stood vigil outside her door, as they had all night: no harm could come to her.

"Smith, sharpen his blade."

She took a slow, deep breath.

"Mother, protect him. Maiden, have mercy. Crone, guide him. Stranger..."

A silent tear rolled down her cheek and Sansa bit her bottom lip.

"Please don't take him just yet."

As she had done every morning and every evening since Loras had left for King's Landing, she said the prayer seven times over. The gods may have taken her family, but they'd also taken Joffrey, and given her Loras: she only hoped that they would be kind to her again. She got up, her hand touching her belly. _The gods have given me this also,_ she reflected. _They wouldn't be cruel enough to have a child grow up without his father, would they?_

The knights gave her a bow as she stepped outside her bedroom.

"Are you ready to go, my lady?" one of them asked.

"Yes, I am. Ser, tell me, how far are we from Highgarden now?"

"Not very far now," he replied as they made their way outside of the inn. "Two days at most."

He opened the door of the carriage for her and helped her step inside.

"Do we have news from the capital?" she asked. "Do we have anything from Loras?"

"Nothing yet, my lady."

When she seemed disappointed, he put a gentle hand on her arm.

"Your ladyship should not worry about him," the knight said, giving her a comforting smile. "Ser Loras is a swordsman of prodigious abilities. He will come back to you safely, my lady."

With some effort, Sansa made her lips smile to him.

"Thank you for your kind words, Ser."

He closed the door as she laid back on her seat.

"Let's go!" he shouted to the other knights, and once again the carriage and its escort took the road.

* * *

><p>Loras sat in the throne room with his father and grandmother: Tommen was sitting on the Iron Throne, and Lord Tywin stood straight, right next to him. On both sides of the throne, two empty seats had been placed. A bit further to the right, queen Cersei sat, her black dress making her skin look even paler than usual. The throne room itself was crowded: it seemed like single person in the Red Keep had come to witness Margaery's trial.<p>

After what seemed like a lifetime, the door opened on Jaime Lannister: with his left hand to her back, he guided the young woman through the room. Margaery wore a black dress as well, which was much more simple and demure than the gowns she usually wore: on her shoulders, she wore a shawl of black silk, held in place by a pin with a golden rose. The pin was the only embellishment she was wearing that day: heavy iron chains were around her delicate wrists, causing Loras to grit his teeth.

"Why do they bother with chains?" he angrily whispered to his father. "Do they think she'll rip off everybody's throat with her nails if they don't tie her hands?"

"Chains are for criminals," Olenna whispered back. "The queen wants her to look guilty."

When the lord commander left Margaery in the booth, Tommen got on his feet, and everybody in the room was quick to emulate him.

"I, Tommen of the House Baratheon, first of my name, King of the Andals and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, do hereby recuse myself from this trial. Tywin of the House Lannister, Hand of the King and protector of the realm, will sit as judge in my stead, and with him Lord Kevan, of House Lannister, and Lord Leo, of House Lefford. If found guilty, may the gods punish the accused."

"A Lannister and a Lannister vassal," Mace hissed between his teeth as Tommen stepped aside to join his mother and Tywin sat on the throne. "And another Lannister to preside. Thank the gods you're here, Loras, this is no true trial."

"Are we surprised?" Olenna snidely commented as she sat down on her chair, along with everybody else.

"Lady Margaery of the House Tyrell," Tywin's clear voice started, "You stand accused by the queen regent of regicide. Did you plot against king Joffrey's life?"

_Somehow I don't think that it's a "say you did not do it and it will all go away" thing,_ Loras reflected.

"No, my lord, I did not."

Margaery's voice was soft but strong: it betrayed no fear. Tywin Lannister raised an eyebrow.

"How would you say he died, then?"

Margaery did not falter.

"He was poisoned, my lord," she replied. "But not by me."

"By whom, then?"

"I do not know, my lord. We aren't here for this, are we?"

_Don't be cocky,_ Loras mentally begged his sister, _Don't be cocky, just ask for your damn trial by combat. _

"We are here to find out whether or not it was me, are we not?"

"You deny conspiring with Tyrion of House Lannister to kill the king?"

"He was my king," she replied. "And my husband, if only for half a day. I had no reason to attempt to his life."

Tywin considered her for a short moment.

"The crown may call its first witness," he announced.

"No need," Margaery's clear voice said.

"Do you wish to confess?" he asked, frowning.

"No," she replied. "I have done nothing that I should confess. My lord, humans are imperfect. Witnesses can be bought, facts can be overlooked, evidences can be tampered with. The gods, however..."

Margaery held her head up high, looking straight at the Hand.

"The gods are perfect, and they see everything. The gods cannot be bribed, nor can they lie. I am innocent, my lord, and I will let the gods prove it to you all. I demand a trial by combat."

Tywin did not look even remotely surprised by her declaration.

"Do you have a champion to stand for you?" he asked her.

"My brother," she responded, "Ser Loras of House Tyrell, will gladly fight in my defense."

"Does the crown have a champion?"

All eyes turned on Cersei: she was absolutely livid, her eyes throwing knives at Loras, whom she had apparently just noticed in the crowd. _She did not expect this,_ Loras realized. _She did not think that Margaery would demand such a thing, she did not think I could make it here in time, and she has no one that can match me._

"Cersei," Tywin barked.

"A moment," the queen regent said, getting on her feet. "Lord Commander."

And without adding anything else, she stormed outside of the throne room, Jaime quickly following her.

* * *

><p>"The little bitch," Cersei yelled, throwing a vase to the floor. "Who does she think she is?"<p>

"If Lady Margaery wants a trial by combat, you can't deny her," Jaime carefully replied. "She is highborn. You've pissed off the Tyrells enough by having me parade her through the throne room in chains, don't make the matter worse. Our father won't let you refuse her anyway."

"How in the _seven hells_ did Loras Tyrell make it back to King's Landing for today? He was gone for Highgarden with Sansa Stark!"

Another vase met a brutal end when she smashed it to the floor.

"I suppose Mace Tyrell sent after him as soon as you put his daughter into custody," Jaime sighed. "He is not a fool, he knew that a trial couldn't possibly go in her favor and he probably wanted a trial by combat the moment you accused Margaery. Does it really matter how and why? He's here, she has named him as her champion for the whole court to see, and you, sweet sister, are_screwed._ The Red Viper's poison is killing Ser Gregor as we speak, and you have no one at your disposal that has a legitimate shot at beating Loras Tyrell in a duel."

"Don't you think I know that?" the queen snapped. "I didn't ask your presence here to tell me things I already know, I want your advice!"

He took a deep breath. He was used to her outbursts: he was just not used to them being directed at him.

"My advice on _what_ exactly?"

"You are lord commander," she said. "Tell me which one of your brothers I should name as my champion."

"Ser Meryl is probably the most capable of them at the moment, but,_ Cersei,_ I am telling you, he is no match for Loras Tyrell, and Ser Loras has a personal grudge against him for the way he treated his wife. He _will_ kill him."

Jaime shrugged.

"Yield, that's my real advice to you. Drop the charges against the Tyrell girl, and let her go back to Highgarden. Or you could name whichever of my sworn brothers you like the least, and have Ser Loras dispose of him for you."

"What if I named you?" she asked. "Would you fight him?"

"Are you completely mad, or are you set to get rid of both of your brothers in the same week? I'm nowhere near the swordsman I was before losing my right hand."

"Then you're useless to me," she hissed after considering him for a short moment. "Completely and utterly _useless_."

She shook her head.

"You only ever were of any use to anyone when you could hold a sword," she spat. "Why couldn't you keep the _one_ thing that made you useful?"

Cersei pushed him aside and walked out of the room before Jaime could formulate a reply.

* * *

><p>"All rise for Queen Cersei of House Lannister," a man announced when she came back in the throne room.<p>

Loras stood next to Margaery, a protective hand on her shoulder. _She's trembling with anger,_ Loras noticed as he looked upon Cersei with more attention. _Her discussion with Ser Jaime did not go well._

"Has the crown chosen a champion to face Ser Loras?" Tywin asked, staring at his daughter.

"Yes," she replied. "After discussing with our lord commander, I name Ser Meryl Trant of the Kingsguard as the crown's champion in this trial by combat."

"Your Grace," Ser Meryl said as he knelt in front of her, "You honor me with your trust. I will fight in your name to the best of my abilities."

_She's not trusting you, you fool, she's got no one else at her disposal_, Loras thought snidely. _Or maybe she loathes you too and wants you dead._

"Very well," Lord Tywin declared, "The trial by combat will be set tomorrow morning. The court is dismissed."

"We got this," Loras whispered to Margaery as everybody got up and started leaving the throne room.

He kissed her on the cheek.

"Be strong, sweet sister, just one more day and you'll be free, I promise you."

He gave her a hug that she was unable to respond to due to the iron chains, and walked back to his father and grandmother as a knight of the Kingsguard came to lead her back to her cell. Without a single glance towards the queen, her father, or Ser Meryl, the Tyrells left the room together.

* * *

><p>The sun shone bright in the sky: there were so many people gathered around the fighting pit that Loras wondered whether there were still people inside the Red Keep. Margaery sat on a seat between her father and grandmother, and her hands were unchained this time. She wore the same gown and the same shawl as she had done the day before: Loras wore a light armor of gold and emerald colors, with the Tyrell sigil on his chest.<p>

"Remember what I told you," Margaery said, glancing up at him. "Don't leave our family without an heir. Don't leave Sansa alone in this world."

"Would you quit worrying about your brother when _you're_ on trial for regicide?" Olenna sighed. "Swordplay is the one thing he's good for."

"Grandmother," he sighed.

"That, and rescuing maidens," she continued, as though he hadn't said a thing. "I think that makes you safe, dear."

She leaned towards her grandson as Pycelle started enunciating the seven gods and asking for their judgement.

"Do try to avoid making a show out of it," the old woman commented. "It got Oberyn Martell killed."

"Oberyn Martell did not fight Meryl Trant," Loras flatly replied before leaving his family to step inside the fighting area.

As the fight began and Meryl lunged towards Loras, Margaery covered her eyes with her hand.

"I can't watch," she said, "Gods be good, I can't see this."

Swiftly, Loras dodged the attack.

"Do you seriously think your brother would lose to this man?" Mace said.

Margaery glanced up just in time to see Loras counter-attack, only to get blocked by Meryl. The two knights traded blow for blow for a while, until Ser Meryl knocked Loras down by bashing him with his shield: Margaery screamed.

"I can't let him," she got on her feet as Meryl towered Loras, "I must yield for him, I-"

"Sit down, Margaery," her father barked.

As she obeyed, trembling like a leaf, Meryl punched Loras on the cheek.

"What's the matter?" he mocked him, "Can't beat me without prancing around with flowers first?"

With a move so swift that barely anyone was able to see it, Loras took his dagger and pressed it against Ser Meryl's throat.

"What's the matter?" he asked. "Can't beat me because I'm not a helpless girl?"

He grabbed a fistful of Meryl's hair and pushed the sharp blade against the tender flesh until blood started running down his skin.

"I yi-" he started, but Loras did not let him finish.

"This is for her," he uttered under his breath.

The crowd cheered as the dagger cut the throat open: Loras was quick to push the body aside and get on his feet. Ser Meryl was still choking on his blood when Margaery ran into the fighting area and jumped in his arms. She was crying, tears of relief rolling down her cheeks.

"My hero," she said to him as he hugged her tightly and even lifted her off her feet for a little bit, "My hero."

There was the sound of glass being smashed, and when Loras glanced over Margaery's shoulder, he saw Cersei Lannister storming away, yelling at her handmaiden to leave her alone when the poor girl attempted to follow her.

"The gods have spoken," Tywin's voice proclaimed, loud enough to cover the cheering, "Lady Margaery of House Tyrell, you are hereby declared innocent, and you are free to go."

"And we will go," Mace said to his children. "Walk with me."

He glared at Tywin, although the Hand was already walking away and did not see him. Mace led his mother and children back into the Red Keep.

"And, children, when we leave this place, we will take our armies with us. If the Lannisters think that they can throw my daughter in a black cell, attempt to frame her for regicide, and get away with it, they have another thing coming. Go pack your belongings: we leave today."

He smirked: Loras had never seen his father like this. Even Olenna looked genuinely surprised by his attitude.

"We are going to strike, and we are going to take what is ours. We will reclaim Winterfell in Sansa's name, and pry it from the Boltons' hands."

Mace looked upon the three of them, all equally shocked.

"The Lannisters just earned themselves one last enemy," Mace finally said before walking off.

"Well, children," Olenna commented, her eyebrows still high from the surprise, "You know what I say in these situations."

She paused.

"Who am I kidding, this is a first! Exciting, isn't it?"

Lady Olenna chuckled and walked away, making her way towards her own apartments.


	8. Lady of Winterfell

**Chapter 8: Lady of Winterfell**

****

"I had never seen Father like this," Margaery said.

She was sitting in the carriage with her grandmother as they made their way out of the city: Mace and Loras were riding with its escort. Before leaving the castle, Mace Tyrell had sent ravens to his camps and garrisons, to every supplies escort, all carrying the same message to his vassals, officers and bannermen: "Report back to Highgarden - come home". Every line of support to the Lannister army - men, gold, supplies - was to be cut off immediately.

"Sweet girl, I have known your father far longer than you have known him, and _I_ have never seen him like this."

"He is angry," Margaery commented. "The Lannisters gave him offense when they accused me."

"He took offense alright, as did I. The whole Reach will take offense when they are told - I did not think your father would take_action_, however. To remove his military support that swiftly from the Lannisters - the right thing to do, perhaps, but it surprised even me."

"Can we really take the North, though? Won't we branded traitors?"

"We are not declaring independence from the crown like that silly boy Robb Stark did. The North belongs to the Starks," Olenna replied. "We so happen to have the last living Stark with us. It's not treason to fight to grant her her birthright - some would say it is our duty to lend her swords and men so that she may reclaim Winterfell."

"Still, I wonder..."

Margaery bit her bottom lip.

"I wonder _who_ killed Joffrey. Obviously it was not me, and I know they say it was the Imp, but..."

"You can't seem to believe it?"

"No, I can't. I can't wrap my mind around it. Lord Tyrion is a true Lannister, loyal to his family - he would not kill one of them."

Olenna smirked.

"Clever girl. No, Lord Tyrion did not kill Joffrey."

"How do you know? I don't _think_ he did it, but how do you _know?_"

"I know that Lord Tyrion did not kill Joffrey," she replied, "Because I know very well that I did not include him in my plot."

Margaery was so shocked that she remained speechless for a while.

"You... _you_ poisoned Joffrey? Why? _Why,_ I was going to be his queen!"

"A queen that would have been little more than a plaything for his cruel games. Do you not remember the things he did to Sansa? She was to be his queen, too, that did not protect her. Do you not remember what she called him when she finally dropped her mask and spoke truthfully?"

"She called him a monster," Margaery conceded.

Her grandmother nodded.

"And a monster he was," Olenna continued. "Sadistic, mad, and cruel. I refused to even let you bed such a beast. That way he does not hurt you and your maidenhead remains intact, which lets us arrange any match we see fit in the future."

"_I_ was accused of regicide because of your plan. I could've been _executed!_"

"I did not think that queen Cersei would be mad enough to accuse a Tyrell when they so desperately need our support on the battlefield," Olenna admitted. "Still, even if I knew, I would've carried on with my plan, because I knew all we had to do was request a trial by combat, and Loras would solve it all."

"Or fail and get us both killed."

Olenna laughed.

"Dear, do you not have any faith in your brother's abilities? He is a good swordsman - almost as if he has a natural talent for_swords._"

She gave her granddaughter a meaningful look.

"You can't make these jokes in Highgarden anymore," Margaery warned her. "Sansa doesn't know."

Olenna chucked.

"Darling, I don't think this girl even _knows_ that there are men who prefer the company of men to the company of women."

* * *

><p>The carriage stopped, and its door was opened by a knight: extending his hand, he gallantly helped Sansa as she stepped down.<p>

"Welcome," he said, waving an arm to display the castle, "To Highgarden, my lady."

He offered her his arm to guide her, which she gladly accepted. Her eyes were everywhere, trying to see everything at the same time: the peach trees that surrounded them, the magnificent castle towards which they walked - everything seemed too good to be true. As she walked towards the castle with her knight, she realized that many people were outside: they had been expecting her arrival. "My lady," they said, bowing and giving her curtsies as she walked by, beaming. _I truly am the Lady of Highgarden now_, she reflected. Just before the main entrance stood a young woman, no older than twenty years old, who gave her an elegant curtsy.

"My lady," she said, "I am Jennisei Flowers. I was hired by order of Lord Mace Tyrell to be your handmaiden here at Highgarden, and, if it pleases your ladyship, I can show you to your apartments immediately. You must be tired after being on the roads for so long."

"You are very kind," Sansa replied with a smile. "Yes, please, show me the way."

Before following her, however, she turned to the six knights who had escorted her safely, and gave them a curtsy.

"Thank you, Sers, for your protection and your company on the road. I was glad to have you all by my side."

"It was our pleasure, m'lady," one of them replied as they gave her a bow in unison.

Jennisei led her through the corridors: she was petite, shorter than Sansa by almost a head, with a slender figure. She wore a light yellow gown that was simple in appearance, yet fit her perfectly: her hair was chestnut and wavy, barely brushing her shoulders, and she had a pretty face with an adorable little nose and big grey eyes. After leading her through many corridors, the handmaiden finally opened an oak door and stepped inside a room, gesturing Sansa to do the same.

The bedroom was huge: it was at least as large as the one her father had been given when he was Hand to the king. _A lifetime ago, it seems_, Sansa realized. Her blues eyes wandered around the room, each time finding something more beautiful or grander to admire, until they stopped on the bed - or, rather, on what was over it. _That was a lifetime ago too,_ she thought. Silent as a tomb, she climbed the three steps that let to the magnificent canopy bed, but she was not even looking at it: her eyes were set on the banners than hanged on the walls behind it. On the left hanged the Tyrell sigil and their words, "Growing strong". On the left... _"I'll let you have all the Stark banners and all the wolf medallions and all the sleeping wolves needlework you desire,"_ he had promised her.

"Did Loras..." she started, unable to finish as the rest of the question died in her throat.

"Yes, my lady," Jennisei replied. "Ser Loras sent a raven requesting a Stark banner in your bedroom. He wrote that he wanted a banner of the North for his lady of the North. I hope we got every details right, my lady: your family's banners are hard to come by these days, we had to make this one entirely from scratch."

"It's beautiful," she said, her voice shaky. "Everything is how it should be."

As she touched the direwolf with the tip of her fingers, a tear rolled down her cheek.

"It's perfect," Sansa added in a whisper.

"I'm glad that it pleases you, my lady. Would you like a bath?" Jennisei proposed with a smile. "I know I would, after a travel such as yours."

"Yes," Sansa replied, her eyes still on the Stark banner, "I would very much appreciate it."

"I will take care of it. Please, relax, my lady."

Just a few seconds after the handmaiden had left to fetch the water, there was a soft knock on the door.

"Come in," Sansa said.

The door opened on two young men carrying luggage.

"Your belongings, m'lady," one of them announced.

"Oh, thank you - please, put them over here."

The servants obeyed and quickly left the room: Sansa laid on her new bed, her head falling on the silky pillows. They were thick and soft: even back in Winterfell, her bed didn't feel as comfortable. _This is my home now,_ she reflected. Her blue eyes lingered on the Stark banner. _With a glimpse of my former home. _Just a few minutes later, Jennisei came back, leading a couple of servants carrying water: Sansa watched absently as they filled her bath with warm water. There was a screen between in front of the bath, but the could still see their silhouettes through the fabric. Once they were done, they left her alone with her handmaiden.

"Come, my lady," the young woman said from behind the screen.

When Sansa made her way to the bath, she saw Jennisei put a few drops of scented oil in the warm water before getting behind her and starting to remove her travelling gown. Neither of them said a word until Sansa was fully naked and ready to step in the bath: as Sansa put a foot in the hot water, Jennisei's eyebrows rose.

"My lady," she whispered.

"What?" Sansa asked, frowning.

She then realized that her handmaiden's grey eyes were set on her belly: in the last few weeks, it had gone from perfectly flat to slightly round. The curve was subtle, impossible to see when she was dressed, but as she stood there naked as her nameday, it was very visible.

"Please don't tell anyone," she begged as she sat in the rose-scented water, "Loras doesn't know yet, I want to be the one to tell him, _please_."

Jennisei gave her a faint smile.

"Of course, my lady," she replied. "My lips are sealed."

* * *

><p>A couple of weeks slowly went by for Sansa in Highgarden: she was sitting on an armchair, doing needlework, when someone knocked on the door.<p>

"Could you get it, please?" she asked Jennisei, not willing to let her eyes off her work.

The handmaiden opened the door on one of the knights that had escorted Sansa to Highgarden.

"Is Lady Sansa here?" he asked the handmaiden.

Jennisei stepped aside to allow the man inside: Sansa's eyebrows lifted when she recognized him as the knight who had once reassured her about Loras' abilities.

"Ser, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"My lady," the man replied, bowing, "Sorry to intrude, but I came to tell you that a Tyrell escort from King's Landing has entered the city and is making way to the castle as we speak."

Sansa's heart skipped at least two beats.

"Is my husband with them?" she managed to ask.

The knight beamed.

"Reports state that Ser Loras rides alongside his father, my lady," he replied, "He's alive and well, as I promised your ladyship."

"Take me to them," she said, getting on her feet, "Please, I want to be there to see him."

The knight offered her his arm and she took it, following his lead through the corridors, her handmaiden behind them. When they arrived to the front door, the escort had still not reached the castle: words of the Tyrells' return to Highgarden, however, had definitely reached the castle, as a crowd was already outside to welcome them.

"Here they come," Jennisei announced.

She was right: the riders could now be seen making their way to the castle. Four of them held Tyrell banners and rode alongside a carriage in which, Sansa guessed, Lady Olenna and Margaery sat. Next to them, Mace Tyrell rode, protected by two knights: when he led his horse further, in front of the green carriage, Sansa was finally allowed to see Loras, clad in Tyrell armor, riding a white horse.

"Gods," Jennisei whispered as Loras waved at the cheering crowd, "He truly is beautiful, my lady."

"Yes," Sansa replied, beaming. "I know."

_Father, Smith, Warrior - Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am his, and he is mine, until the end of my days. My knight. My hero._ When he dismounted his horse, Sansa lost all restraint and ran down the stairs to meet him. It was neither proper nor ladylike, but she did not care: she hadn't seen her husband in roughly three months, she was _allowed_ to be unladylike.

"Is this Sansa _Stark?_" she heard someone ask in her back as she ran by.

"Loras!"

He barely had the time to turn his head towards the sound of her voice when she reached him and threw herself in his arms.

"I have been so worried for you," she whispered as he hugged her back.

He dug his fingers in her fiery hair and kissed her on the lips: it was soft and chaste, but it was enough to leave her wanting more, and it was enough to get the crowd cheering.

"My lady has grown even more beautiful in my absence," he said with a smile. "How can this be?"

The compliment made her blush: behind Loras, the carriage's door was opened and two knights extended their arms, one helping Margaery out, the other helping Lady Olenna.

"My _word_," Olenna commented, "Did we really need the whole castle as a welcoming committee? Escort me to my chambers," she ordered the knight, "I would very much like to eat, if we can get our hands on a cook who is actually doing his job instead of standing her like a tool."

Sansa had a hard time refraining a laugh.

"Sansa," she said, "I need a word with you. Come share my supper tonight, dear."

She did not even have the time to accept before Olenna walked off with her knight: Sansa's eyes quickly found her sister-in-law.

"Margaery," she said, letting go of Loras to give her hands a squeeze, "I'm so happy to see that you are well too, I was worried for you as well."

"You are most kind," Margaery replied, smiling warmly to her. "No real harm was done to me, thank the gods."

"Thank your brother, mostly," Mace Tyrell commented.

The Tyrells made their way towards the castle: Mace walked alone leading them, Margaery walked with her knight, and Sansa walked with Loras. Her handmaiden was quick to follow them.

"Jennisei," Sansa said, "Would you be kind enough to get some food in the kitchens for us? I'm hungry now, and I'm sure my lord is hungry as well after riding for so long."

"Yes, my lady," the handmaiden replied, taking a turn to make her way to the kitchens.

Jennisei was fast enough that when they reached their apartments, a food platter was already on the table. With a polite "thank you" and a discreet gesture of her hand, Sansa dismissed her.

"Let me help," she said as Loras began removing his armor.

Quick and agile fingers undid every knot and unclasped everything until the armor could be put on its display, along with his sword: once they were done, Loras sat to the table.

"I want to thank you," Sansa continued. "For what you did for me."

When he frowned, she went on:

"You didn't... you didn't _have_ to ask them to make a Stark banner for our bedroom. They were branded traitors to the crown, and I'm wed to you - by law, I'm a Tyrell now, but you had them sew the wolf banner for me all the same, so that I would remember who I was and were I come from. Thank you."

"It was nothing," he said.

"No," she replied. "It is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me. This banner, my father's sigil... this means a lot to me. Thank you."

"Well, I promised you, didn't I?"

"You did, as you promised you would take me here - you must forgive me, I have lost habit of people keeping to their word."

"Fair enough."

He took her hand gently, and Sansa bit her bottom lip nervously. She wanted to give him the great news: she just did not know how. _What would my lady mother have said?_ she asked herself. _I never knew how she told Father, I only knew how she told us that we were going to have a brother or sister._

"Is something the matter?" he asked. "Is something in Highgarden not to your liking?"

"No," Sansa quickly replied, "Highgarden is even better than I dreamed of. There is simply something I need to tell you, but I have never told it before - I'm not sure _how_ to do it properly."

"How about you just speak freely?" he suggested as he got on his feet, studying her, trying to read her face.

"Do you..."

She hesitated.

"Do you remember what you said to comfort me when my brother and my mother died?" she asked.

"Yes, I said that soon we'd..."

He stopped mid-sentence and glanced up at her.

"I said that soon we'd have a family of our own," he completed. "Sansa, are you trying to say-?"

"Yes," she nodded.

"But... but that is fantastic news!"

Before she could even see him moving, he was in front of her, cupping her face between his hands, leaning in to kiss her forehead. _It's done,_ he thought as he hugged her, _She's pregnant and Father can't doubt me anymore, and if the gods give her a son he'll leave me alone for good now._

"I'm so excited," she said. "I can't wait to see him, or her."

"Do you have names?"

She hesitated as Loras went back to the table and spread butter on a slice of bread.

"I have names," Sansa finally admitted, "Just... not proper names. Not names I should be using."

He frowned.

"Why not? What names do you have?"

"Robb," she replied, bobbing down, "Rickon, Bran, Eddard. Catelyn. Arya."

"You can use those names," Loras said. "I won't forbid it. Give our children the names that please you."

"Your lord father might not approve."

Loras cleared his throat.

"My father," he replied, "Has ordered his armies to come back in the Reach. When they've all reported to him, he will order them to march North to lay siege to Winterfell, until the Boltons are either dead or forced to bend the knee. Either way, he's set on reclaiming the North in your name, and in our potential son's name. If anything, the fact that you name him Robb or Eddard will help rally northerners to our cause when we get there."

"B-but your father supports the _Lannisters_-"

Loras snorted as she sat on the edge of their bed.

"Not with the Lannisters accusing Margaery of regicide, throwing her in a black cell, parading her in chains for the whole court to see, and building a mock trial where she would've been judged by Lannisters and a Lannister vassal based on bribed witnesses' testimonies. The Lannisters aren't the only ones who are proud, Sansa, and my father will make sure that they _do_ pay their debts. The North is yours by birth," he added. "They _will _pay their debt."


	9. Ladies of Highgarden

**Chapter 9: Ladies of Highgarden**

Sansa knocked softly on the door to Lady Olenna's apartments. After just a few seconds, the door opened on Margaery, who smiled warmly to her.

"Come in," she said, taking her hands. "Thank you for joining us."

As she let her sister-in-law guide her inside the room, Sansa saw a bedroom similar to hers, with the exceptions of the banners which were exclusively Tyrell banners. Food of seemingly every kind had been placed on the table.

"My lady," Sansa gave a curtsy to Olenna, who was sitting at the table drinking tea, "Thank you for inviting me, I hope I did not make you wait."

"You are very much in time, child," the older woman replied. "Please, sit down. You too, Margaery."

As they obeyed, Olenna put down her cup of tea.

"You're a clever girl," she said towards Sansa as she was helping herself with a small serving of roasted beef. "You must know that me inviting you here tonight is but a pretext - but a pretext for _what_, must you wonder."

"Grandmother," Margaery sighed, "At least let her eat first."

"Nonsense. Better to clear the matter immediately. Sansa, dear Sansa: your father is dead. Your brothers are dead."

_I know,_ Sansa thought, biting her bottom lip nervously, _Why remind me?_

"A tragedy," Olenna conceded, "No one should endure as much in a lifetime, leave alone in a matter of months. But do you have any idea what that means for you? Do you know what that makes you?"

When Sansa dared not reply, Olenna smirked.

"Surely you're at least a bit familiar with lines of succession, dear. Speak."

Sansa bobbed down before replying in a whisper:

"That makes me the Lady of Winterfell."

The words almost died in her throat. It felt wrong to even think of that notion, let alone speak it out loud. Lady Olenna's fingers touched her chin, and lifted her head to make Sansa look at her in the eye.

"Yes," she said, a faint smile on her lips. "It does."

"Or it _would_," Sansa corrected. "Winterfell was taken, it belongs to the Boltons now, I know that."

"Rubbish."

Olenna removed her hand and straightened herself on her chair.

"It was _stolen._ What is stolen may be taken back by its rightful owner. For thousands of years the North has been ruled by the Starks. They have never been overthrown because they were benevolent rulers: the other houses owed them everything that they have, and the Starks have never failed them. For longer than anyone can remember, the Starks have ruled wisely over the North: people who have known good rulers will not tolerate tyrants for a long time, especially not if Ned Stark's daughter comes with a hundred thousands men behind her to back her claim, and an heir in her belly."

When Sansa tried to voice her surprise, Olenna stopped her with a dismissive gesture of her hand.

"You may fool my son and my grandson with an ample gown, and maybe even the servants thought that Loras' pretty little wife was simply a little chubby around the stomach, but _I_ know. I knew the moment I laid my eyes on you earlier today. A hundred thousands men ready to fight in your name is good: an heir on his way is excellent, but none of this will be of any use if you do not know how to rule. Tell me, girl, what do you know of politics?"

"Nothing," Sansa admitted. "The one person who ever tried to teach me anything about it was the queen, when I was still supposed to marry Joffrey, but she..."

Sansa hesitated. _Maybe I shouldn't say, maybe she'll think me a fool._

"Yes?" Olenna asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Even to me, her advice seemed _wrong._ She once told me that the only way to ensure that people are loyal to you is to make sure they fear you more than their fear your enemies."

"That does sound like something Cersei Lannister would say. And you don't believe that?"

"No," Sansa replied, "I don't. People didn't fear my lord father, they respected him and they loved him, and no harm would have ever come to him if not for treason and lies in King's Landing, and when Joffrey ordered his execution it made the whole North take up arms against the throne, because they loved him. Joffrey was killed because of how cruel he was. The Mad King was killed by a member of his own Kingsguard, a man who was sworn to protect him with his very life. Tyrants do not last long, and no one takes up the arms in their revenge. People _rejoice_ when they die. Frightening your own people only means they hate you as much as your enemies do, and they will leave your side if someone shows them kindness and promises them a better life."

Olenna seemed impressed.

"Very good, Sansa," she said. "And you said you knew nothing."

The compliment made her smile.

"That is only a beginning, however," the old woman continued. "You have much to learn."

"To what end?" Sansa asked, frowning. "Women do not _rule._ If we reclaim Winterfell, Loras w-"

"Women do not rule," Olenna laughed towards Margaery, "Isn't she adorable? Women _do_ rule," she added towards Sansa, "In their own ways and if they are taught. I taught Margaery, and she's good. I will teach you, and you will be just as good."

* * *

><p>Sansa was only gone from the bedroom for a couple of minutes when someone knocked on the door.<p>

"Yes," Loras distractedly replied, his eyes set on the window rather than the door.

As he turned around, he saw the door opening on a young man, roughly of his own age, with silky black hair, deep brown eyes, and tanned skin: Loras immediately recognized Inan Sand, even though he had not seen him for over a year.

"M'lord has returned home," the Dornishman said as he stepped in, closing the door behind him.

"I have, and not alone."

Inan simply shrugged the remark away as he took a few steps towards Loras.

"I've seen," he said, getting closer with every step.

"Then I must question what you are doing here."

Inan smirked, so close to Loras that their bodies nearly touched.

"Is it not obvious?" he asked, his voice tempting and playful, his eyes spellbinding. "I've come to see if m'lord has missed me."

"I'm married to Sansa," Loras stiffly replied, "I took a vow."

"Vows are nothing but _words_," Inan whispered back. "Men break their vows all the time, why do you think there are so many bastards like me?"

When Loras did not say anything in response, Inan insisted:

"Tell me, m'lord, does she satisfy you?"

"In certain ways."

"In _certain_ ways," Inan repeated. "But not in every way, is that right?"

Loras bit his tongue. He'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy his time with Sansa at all and everything was purely duty: but he'd be lying as well if he told it was anywhere as good as it had ever been with men. When the Dornishman's hand found his crotch, he was unable to gather enough resolve to push him away, and Inan rubbed his manhood gently, his face getting closer, so close that their lips almost touched when he whispered again:

"M'lord has missed me, I see. If she can only satisfy you in _certain_ ways, why don't you let me handle the _other _ways?"

When Inan attempted to untie his pants, Loras stopped him by seizing his hand.

"We shouldn't," the knight murmured, "She-"

What did he mean to say? "She doesn't deserve this?" "She might come back and see us?" He didn't know, he didn't remember, as he had to swallow his protestations when Inan sealed his lips with a kiss: his tongue claimed his fiercely and Loras felt what little "resolve" he had melt away like ice in the desert. Inan pressed his body against his, pushing him against the wall as he kissed him deeply, his fingers finding their way to Loras' belt again, and soon enough the two men were fully naked, tan skin against creamy skin, hardened manhood against hardened manhood. Breaking their kiss, Inan attempted to lead Loras towards the bed, but he resisted and pulled him towards the desk instead: the least he could do, he felt, was to keep him out of her bed.

Loras groaned, half in pain and half in pleasure, when he slowly entered him. His muscles were quick to adjust, however, and the pain quickly vanished as well, leaving him with nothing but pure bliss when Inan started thrusting into him: it was so good, so exhilarating. Loras moaned loudly, throwing his head back: it felt _right, _and he had missed it more than he knew.

* * *

><p>When Sansa left after a long evening spent discussing with Margaery and Olenna, she went to get Jennisei, who had been waiting for her in her small bedroom, so that the handmaiden could help her get ready for bed. When they entered the bedroom, at first she did not see Loras, and wondered where he had gone until she noticed his silhouette through the screen that separated the bath from the rest of the room.<p>

"Good evening," he lazily greeted her from behind the screen.

"Good evening," she replied with a smile, sitting in front of her vanity.

"Good evening, my lord - oh, apologies, I didn't-"

Jennisei blushed and turned around when she realized that the man she was speaking to and giving a curtsy to was naked in his bath with his eyes closed. Sansa refrained a smile as Shae's words on her first morning with Loras came back to her: _seven hells, girl, have you never seen a cock before?_ Her cheek still bright red, the bastard young woman started undoing Sansa's hair, freeing the fiery mane from every pin and twist it had been forced in this morning, before gently running a brush through her auburn locks. Loras peeked through half-open eyelids as the handmaiden brushed Sansa's hair. _It's beautiful,_ he thought. _It shines like copper, maybe even brighter when light touches it._ When Jennisei was done with her mistress' hair, she helped her out of her gown and into her silky nightgown, and despite the chestnut-haired woman standing between his bath and his wife, he saw glimpse of her naked body here and there, bits of creamy skin that the handmaiden was quick to cover with the nightgown._You're beautiful,_ he reflected. _You're gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous: you'd be more than enough for any man, why can't you be enough for **me?**_

"Thank you, Jennisei," Sansa said with a grateful smile. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Yes, my lady. My lady knows where to find me if she needs me earlier. Good night, my lady, my lord."

She gave them a curtsy before taking her leave.

"Sansa."

Loras sat up in the bath, straightening his back and extending his hand: she took the few steps that separated them and entangled her fingers with his, smiling softly to him. _I'm sorry,_ he meant to say but bit his tongue in time, _I'm sorry, I shouldn't have_. He kissed her fingers gently before getting up and stepping out of the bath: she dug her piercing blue eyes in his gaze as he cupped her face between his hands, studying her. _You're my lady, I should be with you, I should **want **to be with you_. Sansa closed her eyes when he leaned in to kiss her, and as their lips merged he held her close against his naked body with a hand to her back: his skin was still dripping water from the bath, but she did not seem to mind, as she kissed him back and dug her fingers through his hair to keep him close.

Sansa gasped in surprise when he swooped her to carry her in his arms and had a soft laugh when he laid her on the bed. It didn't take long for her light blue nightgown to be removed, and she shivered when Loras began kissing her long neck, her delicate shoulders, her small breasts, the subtle curve of her belly, on his way down to... to _what_ exactly? She blushed when he kissed her inner thigh. Sansa opened her mouth, about to ask him what he was doing, but then he kissed her _there_ and the only thing that was allowed to leave her lips was a soft moan.

"Loras," she sighed with pleasure as her back arched.

She couldn't comprehend half the sensations she was getting: all she knew was that it felt good, even better than when he had touched her on their wedding night. It was soft yet incredibly intense and powerful, causing her to moan without restraint as he toyed with her. Her back arched again and her toes curled when he slid two fingers inside and began moving them in a slow "come here" fashion.

"Gods," she whispered, throwing her head back in the pillows.

And then she felt_ it _again, the powerful wave that made her mind shut down and her voice cry out in pleasure. She was still panting and recovering when he entered her: this time her womanhood adjusted to him almost immediately, and she wrapped her legs around his hips to keep him close as he began moving inside of her, slowly at first, then at an increased pace. He leaned in to kiss her, and she was more than happy to oblige him: she ran her fingers through his curled hair as he kissed her breast softly, lightly, before kissing her lips again, muffling a moan from her. With her arms behind his neck and her legs behind his back, she brought him closer when she felt his body stiffening, holding him tight against her body as he reached his peak.

When he rolled off her and collapsed on his back, right next to her, she pressed her body against his, resting her head on his chest where his heart was still pounding from the effort, and with a arm around her small shoulders he held her close. He felt her smile as she took his hand and made him touch the new roundness of her belly. _There's your son or daughter_, she might have said, but she did not utter a word and he understood her all the same. It she had a boy he could teach him how to ride a horse and how to fight with a sword, and he knew that they were supposed to hope for a son, as it meant an heir to Winterfell and Highgarden, but somehow...

Somehow the thought of a pretty little girl with Sansa's eyes and flowers in her hair had its merit, too.


	10. Queen of love and beauty

**Chapter 10: Queen of love and beauty**

The next morning, Sansa was getting ready for her day with Jennisei's help when someone knocked on the door.

"Come in," she distractedly said.

Through the mirror, she saw her sister-in-law enter the room.

"Good morning, Margaery," she greeted her, a smile lightening up her face.

"Good morning, Lady Margaery," the handmaiden said, letting go of Sansa's hair to give her a curtsy.

"Good morning," Margaery replied to the both of them. "May I?"

Sansa saw her gesture the fruits bowl on the food platter that Jennisei had brought earlier.

"Of course."

With a smile, Margaery picked up a raspberry and ate it.

"Is this a new gown?" the brunette asked. "It's beautiful."

Sansa was wearing a deep green gown that was tight around the breast and flowed down her middle and lower body, its silky fabric floating when she moved and walked: it had been made this way for her because her other gowns were too tight around the belly and uncomfortable to wear.

"Yes," she replied, "The others don't fit me anymore. This one lets me breathe freely. That's good enough," Sansa added towards Jennisei. "Thank you, I'll see you later."

The handmaiden quickly took her leave as Margaery took a bite from a strawberry.

"How are you?" she asked, a playful glee in her chocolate eyes. "Had you missed Loras?"

"Of course I had, I hadn't seen him in three months, and I had been worried sick about him. I know you did not kill Joffrey," she continued, "I know you would never have done such a thing, and I knew he _had_ to fight for you, but the gods have taken so much from me already, I feared for his life."

"I did not want him to come," Margaery confessed.

She slowly breathed in as she sat to the table, glancing up at Sansa.

"I kept telling our father that I was innocent, and that I didn't need Loras to risk his life in my name. I wanted a regular trial, up until the day before, but Father forced my hand. Even then as I was led in the throne room I did not want to resort to the trial by combat, but when I saw how much of a front this trial was going to be..."

She shook her head.

"I looked up the throne and I saw Tywin Lannister, Kevan Lannister and some Lannister bannerman, and I thought into myself: Margaery, you are not getting out of this with your head still attached to your shoulders without Loras' help. I'm sorry that you had to fear for him because of me."

"I don't fault you for it," Sansa told her, sitting in front of her. "I told him to go back to you, I sent him. I'm sure he fought valiantly for you."

"Hasn't he told you anything about the trial?"

Sansa frowned.

"No, I did not ask, I was too excited about giving him the news - why, how did it go?"

"The queen named Ser Meryl," Margaery replied. "Poor man - even he must've known that she chose him because she did not have anyone else at her disposal. They traded blows for a while, and then Ser Meryl knocked Loras down, and for a split second I thought he was going to kill him - I got on my feet and nearly yielded for him, but Father didn't let me, and the next thing I knew Loras had his dagger to his throat."

"Did he kill him?" Sansa asked in a whisper.

A faint smile curved Margaery's lips.

"He almost did not get a chance to," she replied. "Ser Meryl was going to yield."

"Was _going_ to?"

"Loras didn't let him finish."

"He's dead?"

"Oh, yes, most definitely."

Sansa let the information sink in: he was gone, the man who had exposed her in front of the whole court, the man who had struck her so many times, the man who held Loras to the ground as Joffrey nearly raped her, that man was unworthy of his title of knight and of his white cloak was _dead_.

"So," Margaery casually said, picking up another strawberry, "How did this first night together in three months go?"

"_Margaery!_"

"What?" she innocently asked. "Sweet girl, I am only trying to make sure my dear brother is treating you as kindly as he should."

Sansa laughed.

"He is, I can assure you. I have never been this happy," she finished with a smile.

* * *

><p>"Can you believe the nerves of this man?"<p>

Olenna rolled her eyes when her son angrily picked up the piece of parchment for the hundredth time.

"No, Mace, I absolutely cannot fathom it, please do tell me again, maybe you will convince me."

A raven had arrived about one hour ago bearing the news of Tywin Lannister's death, and Kevan Lannister's plea for peace and the return of the military and monetary support from the Reach, and for the last hour Mace Tyrell had been fulminating and ranting about it, as if being outraged could change the words that had been written on paper.

"He believes your grudge was against Lord Tywin," she sighed. "With his older brother deceased, he expects you to forget about the slight and return to King's Landing."

"My grudge is against Cersei Lannister who jumped on the first occasion to get ride of my sweet daughter! My grudge is against Jaime Lannister who paraded her through the throne room in iron chains, my grudge is against Tywin Lannister who sat there pretending that this would be a true trial, my grudge is against House Lannister as a _whole! _To hells with the Lannisters, the Others take them all! A _slight_ - this was no slight, this was a disgrace! What kind of weak man does he take me for if he thinks that I'll be so quick to forget the way my dear Margaery was treated?"

"Good speech," Lady Olenna casually commented. "Perhaps you should write it down, it's bound to motivate the troops once they all get here."

Mace angrily slammed his hand on the wooden desk, ignoring his mother's witty comment.

"I am done playing the game of these kings," he spat. "I supported Renly Baratheon - I gave him my armies, supplies, my daughter as a wife, a queen-"

"Your daughter, whom he did not even bed," Olenna managed to add.

"- and my son to protect him and fight for him-"

"Your son, whom he definitely _did_ bed."

"- and he managed to get himself killed in his own _tent!_" Mace continued, ignoring his mother's interruptions. "I offered the Reach's full support to King's Landing, I gave their child king a beautiful queen-to-be, and they how did they repay me? By throwing her in a black cell and framing her for regicide! Let them fight among themselves to figure out who'll get to sit on this ugly chair, we have more important things to deal with."

He sat down behind the desk.

"Sansa being pregnant is excellent," he said. "We need to make it known across Westeros, we will hold a tournament to mark the event. It better be a son, and a healthy one, I'm not sure if Loras will manage to get her with child again."

"You're being unfair to the boy," Olenna replied, shaking her head. "He's obviously done what needed to be done."

"I had every right to doubt after what happened, or rather did _not_ happen, between Renly and Margaery."

"Well, Loras is not Renly."

_And I'll be damned if he hasn't started to feel something for the Stark girl,_ Olenna reflected, taking a sip of wine.

* * *

><p>Two weeks later came the day of the tournament held by Mace Tyrell, both to celebrate his daughter-in-law's pregnancy and to officially declare war to the Boltons: Sansa was alone with Jennisei in her room, as Loras had left early in the morning to get ready.<p>

"The wind is chilly today, my lady, you will need this."

Sansa smiled absently as Jennisei put a silky shawl on her shoulder. The shawl had been made for her especially, and it was deep green to match her gown, with fine and elegant embroideries: the pattern alternated between the golden Tyrell rose and the silvery Stark direwolf. She wore the emerald ring and golden rose pendant given to her by Olenna after her wedding to Loras, and her handmaiden had done fantastic work curling and arranging her fiery hair. She looked absolutely stunning, but she seemed rather uneasy.

"Do you think Loras will be all right?" Sansa asked in a whisper.

"My lady," the bastard young woman replied with a smile, "Your husband is a jouster of prodigious abilities, I have heard all about it. I'm sure he will not only be all right, but bring you pride as well."

"Your handmaiden has the truth of it," Margaery's voice said from the door frame.

When Sansa turned around, startled, Margaery smiled to her apologetically. Margaery's own handmaiden, a pretty girl with golden hair and green eyes, gave her a curtsy and a courteous "my lady" when Sansa set her eyes on her, and she remained in the corridor when Margaery stepped inside the bedroom.

"I'm sorry to intrude, sweet sister, but the door was open, and I could not help but hear your worries. Loras is one of the finest knights in Westeros, and without a doubt the finest knight in the whole Reach. You have nothing to fear."

"You feared for his life when he fought in your trial by combat," Sansa commented when Margaery put her arm under hers, ready to leave.

The blonde handmaiden had a hard time repressing her laugh, and Sansa saw Margaery's lips curve in a faint smile.

"I did," she admitted. "Look at us, fearing for such a capable warrior, aren't we ridiculous? Come," she added, putting an auburn lock behind Sansa's hair, "Let's show the Reach what how beautiful the new Lady Tyrell is."

And the two ladies of Highgarden left the room, their handmaidens following in silence.

* * *

><p>The sun was shining bright in the sky, despite the chilly wind that Jennisei had warned her mistress about: walking alongside Margaery, Sansa made her way to the tribune of honor, where Mace Tyrell was already installed, his mother sitting on his right, his wife standing on his left. As she looked around, Sansa saw many sigils that she recognized as vassals to house Tyrell, and she knew that the tribune was filled with Mace Tyrell's bannermen, their wives and children. "My ladies," they all whispered respectfully - although in her back she could hear some wondering what justified Sansa Stark's presence here - as she and Margaery walked pass them. When they sat one next to another, next to Lady Olenna, the knights entered the arena and began parading around, waving at the cheering crowd.<p>

"Go," Margaery whispered to Sansa as she elbowed her discreetly.

Sansa got up and made her way to the front, holding the piece of metal tightly in her palm. Loras was easy to notice, riding a white horse with the Tyrell coat-of-arms and wearing a shiny armor with spectacular metalwork and a deep green cloak: when he saw her he led his horse towards her, and she smiled to him before gesturing him to get closer, which he did. She did not hear the lords and ladies behind her anymore, and she knew that all of them were watching and listening: the vast majority of them had never seen Sansa Stark, and it seemed that the news of her marriage to Loras had not reached everyone, but Mace Tyrell sought to solve this. _"He will ask for your favor and you will grant it,"_ he had ordered her the night before, _"I want my bannermen to see the two of your together."_

"My lady," Loras told her with a smile on his lips, "Will you do me the honor of granting me your favor for this day?"

"My lord," Sansa replied, "The honor is mine."

She pinned the silvery brooch next to the golden clasp of his cloak: his was a rose, of course, and hers was a direwolf.

"May the Mother protect you," she said, "And may the Warrior give you courage."

Gently, he took her hand and put a delicate kiss on her fingers, and as he rode off with the other knights, Sansa resumed her seat, feeling many pairs of eyes on her as she did so.

"That was well done," Olenna commented in a whisper. "Now we can only hope that Loras wins, or else we'll look like fools."

"Grandmother," Margaery sighed.

Sansa and the Tyrells watched attentively as knights after knights jousted against each others: Loras rode brilliantly every time, unhorsing every single opponent, up to the last one. At the end of the day, when Loras' final opponent bit the dust, Sansa found herself cheering happily with the rest of the crowd, including the bannermen who had all lost the tournament - and, no doubt, a lot of gold in bets - but were obligated to celebrate the victory of their liege lord's son.

When Loras was presented with the flowers crown to give to his queen of love and beauty, he took it carefully, married women and pretty maidens all trying to get his attention to gain the handsome knight's favor, but he rode his horse pass them all to the tribune of honor, where he stopped his mount.

"It is to your kindness and beauty that I owe my victory today," he said loud and clear towards Sansa, who, alongside Margaery, was making her way to the front through the vassals and their wives. "And for that, I beg you to accept this crown."

A large smile on her lips, Sansa leaned in a little so that he could put the crown of white flowers on her head.

"I name you my queen of love and beauty," he proclaimed, "You, the fairest lady of them all, and my beloved wife."

He leaned in to kiss her cheek and so that he may whisper to her ear what no one else was able to hear:

"And my queen in the North."


	11. Shattered dreams

**Chapter 11: Shattered dreams**

"Loras rode brilliantly," Sansa dreamily said as she and Margaery made their way back to the castle. "Even better than the first time I saw him."

"You have seen him joust before?" Margaery asked, a bit of surprise in her voice.

"A long time ago. He fought and unhorsed the Mountain in the tourney that King Robert held in my lord father's honor, when he named him Hand."

Sansa shook her head: it had been scarcely more than a year since that day, but it seemed to her as though at least a century has passed.

"He gave me a flower," she remembered.

"Ah, yes," Margaery said with a smile, "A red rose?"

"How do you know? I don't remember seeing you at the tourney."

"I was not there. I only guessed because he always did that. He would walk his horse around the fighting area, then find the prettiest maiden in the crowd and give her a red rose, and then if he won he made her his queen of love and beauty. It used to be me unless I was not present," she added, "But from now on, every crown is yours, sweet sister."

Sansa smiled.

"Would you come and share our supper?" she offered. "I'm sure Loras will enjoy seeing you as well."

"That sounds lovely."

Sansa turned to Jennisei.

"Please, go to the kitchens and get something for the three of us."

"Yes, my lady," the handmaiden replied, making a turn towards the kitchens.

"Ellena, you are free for the evening," Margaery said towards her own handmaiden. "I will see you later tonight."

"As you will, Lady Margaery. My ladies, have a pleasant evening," the blonde said before giving them a curtsy and taking her leave.

The two highborn women resumed their walk towards Sansa's apartments.

"Are you happy with your handmaiden's service?" Margaery asked.

"Jennisei is very kind, polite and considerate. Please, tell your lord father that I am very pleased by her."

"I'm glad to hear it. Some people mistrust bastards - nonsense, if you ask me. A child is not to blame for whatever his parents have done."

"I don't mistrust base-born people," Sansa said. "I have a half-brother, he's a good man."

"Where is he now?"

"At the Wall," she replied. "He wanted to serve in the Night's Watch, I haven't seen him since Winterfell."

"But he is alive and well?"

"I suppose so. I _hope_ so. Maybe one day-"

Sansa's words died in her throat when she opened the door, for as she did so she saw that Loras had reached the bedroom before them, and _not alone._ His shirt had been removed, and his breeches pulled down to his knees, his body pressed against the wall as a Dornishman Sansa had never seen before thrust into him. Her heart sank, and she remained perfectly still, unable to speak a word, barely about to breathe, as he realized that he had been caught in the act.

"Stop," she heard him say, "Stop, Inan, stop, get off me-"

He quickly managed to pull up his pants and walked towards her, his lips moving, but she could barely hear his voice over the sound of her heartbeats and that odd buzzing sound in her ears.

"Sansa, please, let me - I'll-"

Sansa took a step back when he got close enough to her and tried to take her hand.

"Don't touch me," she dryly said.

"Sansa, I'm sorry, please let me explain-"

She took a deep breath.

"Joffrey was cruel to me," she said.

As he frowned, not understanding what she meant by that, she continued:

"In the end, it didn't even hurt anymore because I expected nothing else from him. I _did_ expect something else from you, _my lord_."

Loras attempted to follow her when she walked away, but Margaery stopped him with a hand to his naked chest.

"You are an idiot," she hissed when she was sure that Sansa was far enough to be unable to hear them. "Truly an idiot."

"Margaery, let me through, I need to talk to her, I need to fix this-"

"No," his sister cut him off, "No,_ I_ need to fix this, if it's even possible to salvage anything after what she saw. Gods help you if Father ever hears of what happened here tonight."

She shook her head.

"I do hope he is worth it," she added.

With one last glare in his direction, Margaery left to try and find her sister-in-law: she was barely gone when Loras felt arms snaking around his waist.

"Women," the Dornishman whispered to him as he nibbled his earlobe. "Why did the gods see fit to plague us with them? What crime were we guilty of that deserved such a punishment?"

"Stop," Loras flatly said.

Inan's hand slid down his torso, but Loras caught it before it managed to slip in his pants.

"I said _stop_," Loras insisted, stopping him with a hand on his forehead as he attempted to kiss his neck.

"Why?" he playfully asked.

"_Why?_ Are you out of your mind? Because my wife saw us!"

"And if we stop, will she _unsee_ us?"

"Get off me," Loras sighed, shrugging him away. "Inan, I'm serious, go away."

Loras sat on the edge of the bed once Inan left the room, his head between his hands.

* * *

><p>"Sansa," Margaery called out as she walked down the corridor, "Sansa, where are you? Sansa-"<p>

She stopped when she finally saw her upon making a turn: she was sitting down on the floor, her back to the wall, her chin on her knees, tears running down her eyes.

"You shouldn't be sitting here," she said with a comforting voice, "Come."

Sansa sobbed as her friend got on her knees to touch her trembling hand.

"Come," she repeated, her arm around her smalls shoulders, "Get up, walk with me."

She led her towards her own bedroom: with one single glance from her mistress, Ellena understood that her presence was not wished and she hurried outside. Sansa didn't even notice the handmaiden's brief presence, and sat on a couch alongside Margaery.

"Why?" she asked through her tears, "Why?"

"Shh," Margaery hushed her, hugging her tightly as she cried. "I'm here, I'm here for you."

"I must have failed to please him," Sansa continued, "It's my fault that he was with him, isn't it?"

"No," her friend replied, wiping off her tears with her thumbs, "No, it isn't."

Sansa lifted her head, looking at Margaery in the eye.

"It must've been painful, it _should_ have been - I don't understand, why would anyone want this?"

"Most men desire women," Margaery softly replied. "Some men simply wish for another kind of company. Sansa, please, I know that this must be very shocking for you, but do not fault him _more_ because it was a man instead of a woman. It isn't his fault."

Sansa stared at her for a short moment before saying:

"You _knew_."

Her voice was heavy with reproach, and Margaery could hardly blame her for feeling betrayed.

"I knew that Loras had an interest in men," she admitted. "I always knew that, even when we were children he would check out the other boys instead of the pretty girls when he thought I was not paying attention. I didn't know he was seeing someone here, please believe me, Sansa, I didn't know."

"Who else knows of this?"

"Father. Grandmother. Other people must know or at least suspect, this has got to be the worst kept secret of the history of Highgarden. Men giving a go at each others behind closed doors isn't exactly something that we fret about in the Reach."

"You _all_ knew," Sansa said, a hint of anger in her voice, "And you still had me wed him? _Why?_"

Margaery had to bite her tongue to refrain herself from snapping at the other young woman. _She is angry, and hurt,_ Margaery told herself, _I must not let her words reach me, I'm sure that she did not mean any offense._

"Sansa," she finally replied after a while, "Loras took you away from King's Landing. He will be nothing but kind and courteous to you, he will be a caring husband and a good father to your children. He will bring you pride with each victory he earns, and will never fail to honor you as his queen of love and beauty in tournaments: tell me, dear sister, what more could you possibly want?"

_Love,_ Sansa almost replied, bobbing down. _Love, I want him to love me as a man should love his wife, I want him to love me as I love him_. She did not utter a word, however, for fear that Margaery would mock her for being so naive, or scorn her for being so demanding. _I'm so stupid, stupid little girl who never learns, stupid little girl who let herself believe in songs and tales again._

"You want his love," the brunette understood. "Love is hard to come by these days, I'm afraid, especially for women in our position. You have fondness and affection, that's something. Loras does care about you, you know."

"Do you think he loves _him?_" Sansa asked. "Do you think he would be with this man if he had the choice?"

"No, he would not."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because lust is one thing, and a thing that means so little - it's just flesh that wants flesh. Love is another thing entirely. I have seen my brother in love before," she confessed. "I'm not even sure he is done healing from that."

"Why? What happened?"

When her sister-in-law looked away, Sansa insisted:

"Please, I have a right to know."

Margaery got up and picked up a sky blue silky shawl that she tossed around her shoulders.

"Loras loved Renly," she finally said. "And Renly loved him back. It was true love, really, a love where none of them had anything to gain from being with the other, but in fact so much to lose. They would have written songs about them, had one of them been a woman. I knew what was going on from the beginning, although I do think the both of them took me for a fool and thought I did not know. Renly was shocked when I told him that I was fully aware of the situation."

She gave her friend a sad smile.

"When Renly was murdered," she remembered, "Loras shed far more many tears than I did. I had just been widowed and I had to comfort my weeping brother."

"B-but that's awful," Sansa blurted, "You had just lost your husband, you were the one who needed support."

Margaery shook her head.

"No. I had lost a husband, a man that I had married out of duty and who never even took me to his bed: Loras grieved more than I did because he had lost something far deeper and far more beautiful than an arranged marriage."

Margaery sat next to her again.

"Renly never touched me," she confessed. "Not even once. I tried so many times to do my duty to him, but he could never perform. He would blame how much wine he had drunk, or how tired he was, or how stressful his day had been, but I knew that being close to me or seeing me naked made him uncomfortable. Even when Loras tried to pressure him, he did not share my bed. Renly had no interest in me whatsoever. Loras, on the other hand, I would say _does_ have an interest in you."

"Maybe he was not even thinking of me," Sansa shrugged. "What do I know now?"

"I can tell you that Loras cared enough about your pleasure that he practically dragged me out of the room because he was worried that he would not know how to satisfy you. Please, I beg you, don't be too hard on him for what you saw tonight. I'm sure he never meant for this to hurt you, and he must be devastated as well. Will you return to him?"

Sansa took a deep breath, and then shook her head.

"Not tonight," she replied, "I need to think this through. Will you let me sleep here tonight?"

Margaery gave her a comforting smile and a gentle squeeze on her hand.

"Of course, Sansa, if you think it will help you. I will ask Ellena to bring us food."

"That's very kind of you, Margaery, but I'm not hungry anymore."

"Oh?" Margaery said, a smirk creeping on her lips. "Whatever are we going to do with all these lemon cakes, then?"

Despite her stomach being still tightly knotted, Sansa laughed.

"On the other hand, if you insist, it would probably be more polite of me to make an effort."

"Good," Margaery said with a smile, "Let me get Ellena."

The blonde handmaiden was rather quick to come back with a tray of food, heavy with fruits and desserts: Sansa spent the evening discussing with Margaery, and when they finally went to bed, her heart was a little lighter. _I will see him and speak to him tomorrow_, she decided before going to sleep.


	12. The Dog, the Wolves and the Rose

**Chapter 12: The Dog, the Wolves and the Rose**

"Where are we going?"

Sandor Clegane raised his eyes to the sky and sighed heavily. The girl had been asking this question every day since they had fled the wedding between Edmure Tully and the Frey girl. _Fuck you, Walder Frey,_ he mentally cursed at the scheming old man for the hundredth time at least, _Were you not such a cunt I would be rich by now, and rid of this annoying kid_.

"Where are we _going?_" she repeated.

He grunted. Did she ever shut up? Her sister was much less annoying. It was the middle of the night and they were still riding: after her last attempted escape, he held her tight against his chest with one hand, the other holding the reins that controlled his horse. The stolen horse was old and seemed sickly, but he was still strong enough to carry them both, and it was all the Hound asked from his mount for now.

"Look," Arya Stark insisted, "My brother and my mother are dead now, and my father is long gone. Even Winterfell is fallen. I know you want a ransom, but face it, there is no one who will pay for me anymore, no one but the Lannisters to whom you don't want to return to yourself, so can't you just let me go and call it a day? Please? I'll remove you from my list if you let me go."

"Piss on your list," the Hound snorted. "I'm not scared of a little girl putting me on some kill list."

"Will you at least tell me where we _are?_"

"We're following the Roseroad and just rode past Cider Hall," he finally told her with his rasp voice.

Arya frowned: the names were familiar, she had heard Maester Ludwin teach them to Bran.

"The Reach? You've taken me to the_ Reach?_ Out of all the places in Westeros - why? I've never even _been_ there."

"Maybe you never set a foot in the Reach, it doesn't matter. There is someone very rich who will pay for you here."

"I don't have any family in the Reach," she complained. "You are wasting your time."

"Will you shut up?"

"You are wasting your time," she repeated. "I am a Stark of Winterfell, we do not have any ties in the Reach."

"And you are wasting your breath. You're worth your weigh in gold to the person I'm taking you to, I'm not letting you go, so shut your pie hole."

He paused as she scowled.

"For all it's worth, it's someone that will be happy to see you."

His words did not really reassure Arya. _He's going to sell me to some lord or innkeeper to be a servant,_ she thought, _And he has taken me far enough from the North that no one will recognize me as Arya Stark. But then why ride pass Cider Hall where he could've found a place to sell me? Even that bridge we crossed a few days ago must've been Bitterbridge, there are plenty of inns and castles there were no one would ever have known me as Ned Stark's daughter. Why is he wasting so much time?_

* * *

><p>Margaery was still sleeping when Sansa woke up: she stealthily left the bed and tossed her green shawl around her shoulders to cover herself more than Margaery's borrowed nightgown could, and left the room in perfect silence, slowly making her way towards her own bedroom. When she entered the room, she saw that Loras was still in bed, which was quite normal considering how early in the morning it was, but when she closed the door he turned his head in her direction and she realized that he was awake. Upon seeing her, he sat up in the bed, but as she slowly walked towards him, he dared not speak a word, not even when she sat on the edge of their bed.<p>

He cleared his throat.

"For what it's worth," he finally said after a long, awkward silence, "This is not now I wanted you to find out."

"How, then?" she softly asked.

"_When_ would be a better question," Loras replied, "To which my favored answer would have been 'never'."

"I suppose that would have indeed been ideal for you."

Loras bit his bottom lip: all the while he had been seeing Inan in secret and had managed to shut out the guilt by telling himself that other men did it all the time, only they did it with whores and servant girls instead of men, but at the very moment he had seen Sansa's eyes when she caught him he knew that he had been lying to himself. If truth be told, he hadn't slept that night: his stomach was too tightly knotted with guilt to let him fall asleep. He had hurt someone who had suffered a great deal already, and for _what?_

"Sansa, I truly am sorry, I never meant to hurt you, I swear."

"I do believe that you are sorry," she said, "But you're not sorry that you broke our vows. You're sorry that I caught you. Tell me," she added when he lowered his head, "Is that what you were thinking about when we were in bed together?"

_Only the first time,_ he almost said but bit his tongue in time, _Only on our wedding night did I need to think of Renly. _He kept that answer for him, however: it would do him no good to harm her again.

"Were you with him when you were with me?" she insisted.

"No," Loras finally replied, "When I was with you, I truly was with you."

She gave him a sad smile, as though she had a hard time believing him.

"And would you have me believe that you were with me when you were with him as well?"

"No, I was not," he admitted, "But if it's any consolation to you, I was not with him either."

_Renly,_ she thought, _He must have seen no one but Renly, if he truly loved him as Margaery said._

"It's not really a consolation."

"No," he conceded, "I don't imagine it is."

"My heart shattered when I saw you with him," she said. "Even if I do as Margaery said and take away the fact that it was a man, and try to pretend it was a woman instead, it does not make the matter any less painful. I felt stupid, and betrayed, and stupid for feeling betrayed. I thought we shared something. I love you, and I was silly enough to think that you loved me back."

As a tear rolled down her cheek, Loras took her hand and she did not reject him as she had done the day before.

"Sansa."

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

"I don't know if I will ever love you the way a man is supposed to love his wife," he told her. "I can't promise you that I will. I don't know if I can, and it's something that I can't control. That does not mean that we can't have something special, or that we can't be happy together, or that I feel absolutely nothing for you. I do care deeply for you, Sansa, and maybe this is not what you have been dreaming for, but it's still something, you know."

_He loved Renly and he still grieves for him. I cannot make him love me, love cannot be forced_. She lowered her head, her free hand nervously playing with the silky fabric of her emerald shawl for a while.

"I once told my lady mother that I wished for a marriage as happy as the one she shared with my lord father," Sansa confessed. "I told her that I wanted a husband who loved me as much as Father loved her, and that I would love him as truly as she loved him."

Sansa sighed.

"She laughed at my innocence," she remembered, "And said that theirs was not a love that had struck them at first sight, passionate but ephemeral, but rather a long, lasting love that they built over the years. Perhaps I should set my eyes on that instead."

She made herself smile.

"Perhaps with time we can build something like they did."

He shifted a bit to the right side of the bed, before gently taping the space he had created: without a word and after a short hesitation, she laid down next to him, and when he put his arm around her shoulders to hold her closer, she did not reject him.

* * *

><p>"What place is this?" Arya asked as the deep brown horse made his way towards a castle grander than any she had ever seen.<p>

"Seven hells be damned, girl, do you ever shut up?"

"If you answered my questions at _once,_ I wouldn't need to ask them twenty times over!"

"If you could catch a hint, you wouldn't ask the same question twenty times over!"

"Halt!" a guard said upon seeing them, "Who would seek entry to Highgarden?"

"Highgarden?" Arya snorted towards the Hound, completely disregarding the guard. "_Seriously?_"

"Shut it, girl. Doesn't matter who I am," Clegane added to the guard, "What matters is who I _have_. I demand to speak to Mace Tyrell."

Arya frowned. Had he truly gone through all this trouble to sell her away to Mace Tyrell, a man who had never seen her and perhaps didn't even know Eddard and Catelyn Stark had a daughter named Arya? It seemed so futile, and such a waste of time, when he could have sold her at many points in the Reach and even before.

"Lord Mace is not in Highgarden today," the other guard replied.

Arya heard the Hound grunt.

"Then I will speak to his son, or whoever handles this place in his absence."

When the man gestured them to follow him, Sandor dismounted his stolen horse and got a hold of Arya's tiny arm, dragging her behind him as he followed the Tyrell guard. They followed him through a beautiful garden with flowers that smelled nice and trees full of fruits begging to be harvested, then through wide corridors that were warm and full of light, until they reached a large room with a wooden seat where rose were carved, with banners all across the wall. Tyrell banner, Hightower banner, Tyrell banner, Redwyne banner, Tyrell banner, Chester banner, Tyrell banner, Tarly banner: the sigils alternated between the Tyrells and each of their vassal houses, in perfect regularity until Arya noticed an empty spot between two Tyrell banners. _The fox of House Florent is missing,_ she realized, _It should be there_.

"Who should I announce?" the guard asked.

"Seven hells, announce the Father above if you want, just get the pretty boy here."

The man glared to him, but still left: several minutes later, he came back with Ser Loras Tyrell.

"Clegane," Loras said without any other ceremony, sitting on the ornamented seat, "What are you doing here? I ought to send you to the Lannisters, the throne has placed a hefty price on your head."

"Place a hefty price on that," the Hound replied, forcing Arya in front of him with a push of his hand between his shoulders.

Loras arched an eyebrow.

"And this is?" he asked.

"Tell him your name, girl."

Arya glared at him, but did not utter a word. He sighed heavily.

"All the way from the Twins to here you would not shut the fuck up and now that you're _required _to speak, you keep quiet?"

"Watch your tongue, Ser," Loras warned him. "The girl is but a child."

"I am no knight," Clegane spitefully replied, "And this child has endured far more that my cursing in the last year. I present to you Arya of House Stark."

Loras' heart skipped a beat: if that was indeed his sister-in-law, he ought to free her from this man, but he couldn't simply give away whatever the Hound asked of him because he found a Northern girl that was loosely of Arya's age.

"No one has seen Arya Stark in over a year," he stated, "She is believed dead."

"Believed dead is not dead. Does she look dead to you?"

_I need proof,_ he thought. _I could get Sansa to identify her, but if the Hound sees how much Sansa wants her sister by her side he's reliable to ask me for every single gold piece we have in the whole Reach. No, I need to confirm it by myself._

"Is he speaking the truth, child?" he asked her.

"I'm not a child anymore!" she complained.

_No, given what you must've endured if you truly are Arya Stark, I would presume that you grew wise way beyond your years._

"He says that you are Arya Stark," Loras continued. "If that is true, this place is your home. Can you prove to me that you are who he claims you are?"

_I don't want this place to be my home,_ Arya thought, _This is just another golden cage like King's Landing, the kind of place stupid girls like Sansa like, not me_. However, she did want to be free of the Hound, so she said:

"You're the Knight of Flowers. When my lord father was made Hand, and the king held a tourney in his honor, you gave my sister a red rose before fighting the Mountain."

_Seven hells,_ he thought, _Even Sansa's sister remembers that I gave her that flower, and I have no memory of it._.

"Everyone who was at the tournament saw me give a red rose to Sansa Stark," he replied. "This is no proof."

"I wasn't _there,_ I was with my dancing master! I only know because she wouldn't shut up about it for days."

Was Arya sitting next to her sister or not that day? Loras could not even remember. Renly was sitting behind Sansa that day, and he only saw him in the tribune of honor when he rode close to it.

"Tell me of the direwolves," he said. "Tell me of Joffrey and your wolf."

"Nymeria bit Joffrey to defend me," Arya replied. "Joffrey started it, he threatened the butcher's boy because he was playing swords with me, and I stood up for him but he tossed me to the ground and said he'd gut me and Nymeria attacked him. Later when we were asked what had happened, I told the truth and Sansa said she didn't see well and didn't remember well, she lied for that monster instead of standing up for me in front of the king, that wasn't _fair,_ we were sisters! It wasn't fair," she insisted. "But then..."

"Then?" Loras asked.

"Then the queen forced Father to kill Lady, Sansa's wolf, and that was not fair either."

Loras let the story sink in. _This is Arya Stark, no doubt,_ he told himself.

"Convinced yet?" the Hound's rasp voice rose.

"Quite convinced," Loras replied. "What do you want in exchange? I can make you knight, or give you lands, or both."

"Piss on knighthood," Clegane spat, "And piss on lordship. I want the girl's weigh in gold, and a good horse, and I want to be on my way."

"Gold, a horse, and freedom. As you will, Clegane."

Once the matter was dealt with, Loras offered his hand to Arya.

"Come with me," he said.

"No," Arya replied, stubbornly crossing her arms.

Loras refrained a smile. _You're all she said and even more,_ he thought.

"I won't hurt you," he promised.

"Joffrey told that to Mycah and he had him killed. Then he told it to my father and he had him killed as well."

_She suffered a great deal too,_ he realized. _Only Sansa was a wounded doe who wanted comfort and help, and Arya is a wounded wolf who will kill you if you try to help_.

"Get my wife, will you?" she heard him whisper to one of the guards.

"Yes, my lord."

Arya scowled when the guard left, but did not say a word.

"I don't want to be here," she finally complained, "I'm Arya Stark of Winterfell, I won't be your stupid wife's _servant_-"

The door opened after a short while, and Arya saw a woman, young and fair, with long auburn hair, a pregnant belly and an elegant green gown step in and be guided next to the ornamented seat where Loras was still sitting. A rock dropped on Arya's heart, and she felt her breath getting heavier. _He wanted to sell me to Sansa,_ she realized, _It's Sansa, it's been Sansa all along, she must be married to Loras Tyrell, that's why the Hound dragged me all the way to Highgarden instead of selling me to the first innkeeper he saw_. She held her breath when Loras indicated her presence to his wife by a subtle gesture of his chin. _Maybe she won't even recognize me, _Arya thought when she felt her sister's blue eyes study her, _Even in Winterfell she would pretend that she did not know me because I embarrassed her_.

"I will leave the two of you alone together," Loras said, kissing her cheek lightly before leaving the room.

"Sweet Mother above," Sansa whispered, covering her mouth behind her hand.

She saw tears fill her sister's eyes as she absently stepped down from the wooden dais and slowly made her way towards her.

"Is that truly you?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Unable to speak, Arya ran to her, and as her sister hugged her tightly she broke into tears.

"How did you get here?" Arya asked when they broke apart. "The last time I saw you, you were betrothed to Joffrey."

"It's quite a long story," Sansa replied. "How did you get here?"

"Probably an even longer story."

Sansa smiled.

"Well, I suppose we have plenty of time now. Come with me, we'll get you a bath, and new clothes."

"I don't want a gown like yours," Arya protested as her sister led her out of the room.

* * *

><p>When they got to Sansa's bedroom, she immediately ordered Jennisei to fetch some warm water.<p>

"And food, too, she must be hungry. And new clothes. Please, try to find something that is not too ladylike, my sister is not fond of splendid gowns."

"I'll do my best, my lady."

When the handmaiden left the room, Arya's eyes found the Tyrell and Stark banners over the canopy bed.

"It's true, then?" she said. "You're married to Loras Tyrell?"

"Yes, I am. Margaery arranged the match when she saw how unhappy I was in King's Landing. Short version, of course, the long one would take a lifetime to tell."

"That means you're a Tyrell now - and not just_ a_ Tyrell, you're _the_ Lady Tyrell."

"I suppose so, yes."

Arya shrugged.

"Well, at least one of us got what she dreamed of."

The handmaiden came back leading a cortege of servants, most of them carrying water, two of them carrying food platters: in her hands she held clothes.

"My lady," Jennisei said, "I'm sorry, but a gown is all I could find that would fit her. Perhaps we can have new clothes designed for her if she wants, but for now that will have to do."

The servants barely had enough time to leave the room before Arya stripped of her dirty rags and stepped into the warm water.

"Don't," she scowled when Jennisei opened a bottle of scented oil, "I'm a human being, not a flower."

Jennisei looked taken aback, and Sansa chuckled.

"I'm sorry, my lady," the handmaiden apologized.

_I'm not a lady,_ she might have said, but for now she was too busy scrubbing the dirt off her skin to be bothered by the title: once she was clean, the pretty handmaiden dried her skin and hair, and helped her get in the sky blue silky gown, despite the deep scowl in her face that clearly displayed her disapproval of the type of clothing she had been given.

"I don't know what your ladyship prefers to eat," Jennisei said as she led her towards the table, "So I had the cooks give me a bit of everything."

"Arya? She'll eat anything," Sansa jokingly said.

Jennisei's eyes widened.

"Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell?" she asked. "It is an honor to meet you."

When she gave her a curtsy, Arya rolled her eyes and Sansa subtly kicked her leg under the table. A lifetime ago, Arya would have said something brash and a fight would have started, but for now she was starving and she found the pea soup to be a more fitting victim.

"So, how did _you_ get here?" Sansa asked.

With a mouth full of hot soup and fresh bread, Arya mumbled something that her sister didn't hear, before swallowing her food and speaking more clearly:

"The Hound found me when I was nearly at Riverrun," she explained. "He wanted to sell me to Mother and Robb for ransom, but when we got to the Twins..."

Arya cleared her throat and took another spoonful of delicious soup before continuing:

"Uncle Edmure was getting married to some Frey girl, but the Freys - the Freys, they-"

"I know," Sansa said in a whisper. "I know what they did. You arrived there after the massacre?"

"During," Arya corrected her. "I saw them kill Greywind, I saw what they did to Robb's body, I wanted to rush in to help them, but the Hound didn't let me, and he dragged me away from there. After that I thought he would let me go, since he had no one to ransom me to, no one who would pay gold for Arya Stark, but he kept me with him and rode all the way here instead. He must've heard people in an inn speak of your marriage, and knew that the Tyrells would pay a lot to return me to you."

She gave her sister a wink.

"Short version, of course, the long one would take a lifetime to tell."


	13. Allegiances

**Chapter 13: Allegiances **

About two weeks after her sister's return, Sansa and Loras were eating breakfast and chatting when they were interrupted by a knock on their door. When Jennisei opened the door, a servant entered and bowed.

"Apologies if I disturbed you, m'lord, m'lady. Lord Mace has returned to Highgarden and summoned you. He wishes to see your lordship and your ladyship at once."

When Sansa raised an intrigued pair of eyes at Loras, he shrugged.

"I don't know," he replied, "Let's find out."

The young man led them to Mace Tyrell's apartments: when they entered, Sansa saw that Mace, Margaery and Olenna were already present, alongside two men: one that she did not recognize, and one that vaguely reminded her of someone she knew, until she saw the golden horse head clasp on his cloak. _Lord Rodrik Ryswell,_ she remembered, _Lord of the Rills. The other one looks so much like him, he must be his son, and they must have both bent the knee to the Boltons. They are not friends._

"Lady Sansa," Rodrik replied, "The last time I saw you, you were only a child: I am pleased to see what a beautiful woman you grew up to become."

When Mace noticed how coldly she thanked him, he cleared his throat.

"Allow me to lighten the moods a little," he said. "Lord Rodrik has agreed to join our side. His armies will fight with us when we lay siege to Winterfell."

"In exchange for what?" Loras asked.

He was no fool: he knew that to make the Ryswells betray their Boltons overlords, they must have been promised something in return.

"Margaery will marry Lord Rodrik's elder son and heir, Lord Roger."

"I am very pleased by the prospect," Roger said.

_And pleased by the prospect of consummating the marriage, I assume,_ Loras reflected.

"As am I, my lord," Margaery said, a beautiful smile plastered on her lips. "Tales of your valor in battle have reached my ears, even here in Highgarden, and I shall be honored to call you my husband."

_From Renly's queen to Joffrey's queen to a Stark bannerman's wife, what in the sevens hells is Father thinking? _Loras wondered._ Maybe she was right and finding a match for her grew increasingly difficult after she was widowed twice. No, that's impossible, not with her name, not with her looks. Father is so set on claiming the North that he would do anything for it, even marry Margaery into a vassal house from the North._

"The wedding will be celebrated shortly," Mace continued, "And we will make our move after that. With our bannermen and the Ryswells, the Boltons won't last long."

"You have a problem that I didn't mention," Rodrik said.

When all eyes turned on him, he cleared his throat.

"Roose Bolton has had his bastard son legitimized."

"So he has an heir," Olenna shrugged, "That is not going to help him when they are forced out of Winterfell."

Rodrik shook his head.

"Ramsay Bolton has wed Arya Stark._ We_ will follow you, Lord Mace, Ser Loras, and Lady Sansa, but many of Lord Eddard's former bannermen will rather follow a man of the north wed to Lord Eddard's younger daughter than a man of the south wed to his eldest daughter."

Mace's face flushed with fury.

"And you did not see fit to warn me of this earlier?" he snapped at his guest.

"Well, that's going to be a hard one to stick, Lord Rodrik," Olenna casually commented. "But, please, for the sake of my amusement, do go on."

A smirk on her lips, she picked up a fig and took a bite, watching the scene with increasing interest.

"Ramsay Bolton married Arya?" Sansa calmly asked.

"Yes," Roger replied, "We were present at the ceremony."

"No," Sansa simply said, a faint smile on her lips.

"My lady," Rodrik insisted, "I don't mean to give offense, but we have seen it with our own eyes."

"Oh, my lords, I have no doubt that you have witnessed Ramsay Bolton's wedding, but you did not see my _sister's _wedding."

"I saw them. I saw _her._ It was your sister, she wore the direwolf cloak and said the words with him."

"What you saw, my lord, was a fraud, and a masquerade."

Sansa shook her head again.

"The last time you saw me, I was a child, and Arya was even younger. How would you even tell her apart from another Northern girl with brown hair? For that matter, how would most people know Arya Stark if they saw her? With our parents and siblings dead, and me in Highgarden, the Boltons were free to put a wolf cloak on any girl that was loosely of her age and call her Arya, that does not make her my sister."

"How can you possibly know that she's a fraud?" Mace asked. "Arya vanished when Joffrey had your lord father executed. For all we know, the Boltons may have gotten their hands on her."

"Precisely, she vanished."

She dug her eyes into her father-in-law's.

"She vanished, went through all seven hells, and she did not go through all this to end up in Ramsay Bolton's bed. Arya was returned to us in your absence by Sandor Clegane," she announced. "For her weigh in gold and a healthy horse, I'm told."

"I don't believe you," Rodrik said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Clegane serves the Lannisters, if he had gotten his hands on your sister, he would have sold her to _them,_ not to you."

"The Lannisters have a price on Clegane's head because he fled during the battle of Blackwater," Loras replied. "To return Arya to them would have effectively been serving himself on a silver platter. Better to come here, where her sister has become Lady of Highgarden."

His words seemed to sway his father, but Sansa could see that the Ryswells still doubted them.

"If my lords will excuse me," she said, heading towards the door.

The Tyrells and Ryswells exchanged glances and quietly waited for Sansa to come back: it only took her a few minutes to walk through the door again, holding a younger girl's hand in hers. She stopped next to Loras, a hand around the girl's shoulders, a smirk creeping on her lips as she dug her eyes in Rodrik's.

"My sister," she said, "Arya Stark of Winterfell."

The victorious smile on her lips grew bigger.

"The one and only, if I may add."

"By the Seven," Mace whispered, getting on his feet.

He took a few steps towards the two sisters, his eyes set on Arya: he looked as though he had never seen something so good.

"I'll be damned," he said, his eyes studying her face with attention, "_Arya Stark._"

"Yes, Mace, that's what the children have been trying to tell you," Olenna sighed.

"That is fantastic," he commented, lightly tapping her cheek, which earned him a glare, "Just fantastic. Eddard Stark's trueborn daughters, the _both_ of them - the North is bound to follow us now."

"I would not be so sure," Lord Rodrik warned him, "The North is a curious creature. It will not accept a ruler from the south as easily as you may think. You have enough men to claim it, but to rule it will be another matter entirely. Boltons, Dustins, Manderlys, Lockes - most houses from the Norths will rise against us."

Mace turned his attention from Arya to Rodrik, a faint smile curving his lips.

"Dustins, Manderlys, Lockes, Cerwyns, Stouts: tell me, Lord Rodrik, to whom do these vassal houses owe allegiance?"

When he did not reply, Mace Tyrell insisted:

"To whom?"

"They all bent the knee to Roose Bolton. They serve the Boltons."

"Wrong," Mace said, "Bending the knee to avoid flaying is no true allegiance, it's merely survival. To whom do they owe _true_allegiance?"

When his question was met with nothing but silence, Mace sighed.

"Sansa," he continued, "To whom do these houses owe allegiance?"

"To House Stark," she softly replied.

Feeling Olenna's eyes on her, she added:

"To me."

She saw the old woman's lips curve in an appreciating smile, and she smiled back at her.

"To her," Mace nodded, "To them," he added, pointing the two sisters. "When they see you, and when they see them, they will know who to follow, no doubt."

He sat back at the table, next to his mother.

"Leave us, children," he ordered, "We have matters to discuss."

Loras, Margaery, Sansa and Arya left the room.

"Can I go back now?" Arya complained.

"Won't you come for a walk through the gardens with us?" Margaery suggested.

Arya stared at her as though the brunette had insulted her.

"No, I won't," she stiffly replied.

"Arya, be nice," Sansa scolded her, "She's just trying to be kind."

"Well if she's trying to be kind to me, she shouldn't suggest that I waste time walking around smelling flowers!"

"Arya! Apologize to Margaery right now!"

"It's quite alright," Margaery said, although she looked taken aback by Arya's attitude. "I suppose not all of us must be ladylike."

The scowl on Arya's face softened.

"Would you rather we go for a ride?" Margaery suggested.

"Getting better."

"Would you rather I teach you how to wield that sword of yours properly?" Loras offered.

The suggestion stopped Arya in her track, freezing her in the middle of the corridor.

"What?" she blurted.

He smirked.

"When Sandor Clegane first brought you to me, you had a sword at your belt," he said. "Well-made, not like something you would have found on a corpse on the roads. Short, skinny, light, not made for a grown man. The blade was custom-made for you, am I right?"

"My brother Jon had it made for me," she confessed. "All the way back in Winterfell."

"What?" Sansa said. "_When? _How did I not know?"

"We sort of vouched not to tell you."

"Why would he do this behind Father's back?"

"To please me! Father found out eventually," Arya shrugged. "He let me keep it, and he even hired a man to teach me how to wield it. There was never any dancing lesson. Syrio was teaching me how to fight with a sword. But then... but then they took Father, and they sent men of the Kingsguard for me."

She bobbed down.

"I was with Syrio that day. He fought them long enough for me to run. He was really good, you know," she insisted, "Even if he only had a wooden sword, it still took three of them to kill him."

"So," Loras said, "Would you have me as your teacher?"

Arya considered him in silence for a while.

"Are you trying to make fun of me?"

"I would take his offer before he changes his mind," Margaery suggested. "Loras is one of the finest swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms, you can hardly find a better teacher."

"Are you really _that_ good?" Arya asked him.

"The best in the Reach," he replied. "Why don't you let me show you?"

Arya beamed and left with him, prompting Sansa to shake her head lightly.

"It was kind of him," she said towards her friend, "But I don't think he should encourage her."

"She's fierce," Margaery replied. "She'll grow out of it eventually."

"That's what Father thought as well, but she always got worse."

"You sound like she's ill!" Margaery laughed. "So she likes playing with swords more than needlework, where is the wrong in that? When I was married to Renly," she continued, "A woman named Brienne of Tarth came to him. She defeated Loras in a duel and demanded that my husband gave her a place in his Kingsguard."

Sansa was shocked.

"A _woman_ defeated Loras?"

"A very capable woman, but I wouldn't remind him," Margaery advised her. "He despises losing. He was humiliated when she removed her helm and showed to everyone that she was not a man, and further humiliated when Renly granted her what she wished."

She smiled.

"On another topic, what did you think of my new betrothed?"

"He looks kind and just," Sansa replied. "I only saw his father once when I was a child, and never saw him, I wouldn't know more. What did _you_ think of him?"

"Tall, quite handsome. Looks well-mannered. I will give him more points that my two former husbands put together if he lives long enough to perform the deed in bed," she lightly added.

"_Margaery!_"

"What?" she innocently asked. "I went through two exchanges of vows, two feasts, one of them including seventy-seven courses, and I even went through one bedding ceremony, and _nothing_. I wonder how it will be like."

"The bedding," Sansa grimaced.

"I was told by my mother that you forget quickly. It must be true, I barely remember how I was taken to Renly's bed."

"It is true, I suppose. The only thing I can remember is telling myself that I needn't be worried because only Loras could touch me."

She bobbed down.

"And now I feel he won't ever-"

When Margaery looked at her, she shook her head and blushed.

"Please forgive me, I shouldn't-"

"Sansa, what is it?" she asked softly.

"Ever since that day... ever since I _saw_... we haven't... he hasn't touched me."

She made herself smile, but her face was sad nonetheless.

"I suppose I'm pregnant so there is no need out of duty, and since I saw them there is no need for him to pretend anymore."

"And you miss it?"

Sansa looked away guiltily, and Margaery had a faint smile.

"It is that good, then?"

Sansa shook her head.

"It's not just _physically_," she replied, "It's how it felt to be with him this way. It made me feel connected to him, truly _with_ him, and now it feels like the connection is broken. He doesn't want me anymore, if he ever did."

"He _did_ want you," Margaery said, "He knew that you were pregnant the first night he spent here with you, didn't he?"

Sansa nodded.

"And yet," she continued, giving her a meaningful look, "I'm told that the night was quite pleasant. Don't be so hard on him, or yourself. I know my brother, and I know he must feel guilty of what he has done. Perhaps... perhaps he is waiting for you to show him that _you _want him, as well."

"Are you suggesting that _I_ take the initiative?" Sansa asked, looking and sounding positively mortified by the prospect.

"If you want to be with him this way, it stands to reason that you should let him know," Margaery shrugged.

"Absolutely not! It isn't my place to do such a thing, I am his _wife_, not a... a..."

"Whore?" Margaery suggested. "Sweet sister, I never said you should take it this far, I merely said that even a small move could go a long way."

"Lady Sansa!" a voice said from behind their back.

When the two Tyrell ladies turned around, they saw a young man running to them: he stopped and bowed, catching his breath.

"Lady Sansa, Lady Margaery, my apologies if I have bothered you. I have been looking all over the castle for your ladyship," the servant said towards Sansa, "Someone is in the great hall to see you."

"Who might that be, I wonder? Escort us, please," she replied.

"The person asked for you only, my lady, not for anyone else."

"Anyone that needs to see me, she can see: anything that needs to be said to me, she can hear. Lead us, please."

He bowed again.

"As my lady commands."

* * *

><p>When the young servant opened the door for them, Sansa saw a woman she had never seen before: blonde, with short hair and a pale complexion, broad shoulders, and <em>tall.<em> Taller than the Hound, taller than Loras, taller than most men Sansa had seen in her entire life: she was also uglier than any woman she had seen, but she did not seem to mind what she looked like. She wore an armor that was black and dark red, and to her belt Sansa saw a golden sword, its hilt carved in the shape of a lion. The lion's eyes were ruby. _A Lannister sword, _Sansa thought with disgust, _This woman comes in the Lannisters' name._

"Brienne!" Margaery's voice rose to her side, "I am so happy to see you again."

"Brienne of Tarth?" Sansa said as her sister-in-law greeted the woman like an old friend.

"You honor me, my lady," the woman stiffly said to her, "I did not expect you to know me."

_I will not tell her that I know about Loras,_ Sansa decided, _No need. He would not like to know that I know_.

"I don't," Sansa replied. "I only know stories."

Sansa readjusted her golden shawl on her shoulders.

"Why did the Lannisters send you to me?" she coldly asked.

"My lady," Brienne replied, bowing her head, "Ser Jaime Lannister gifted me with the armor and sword, but I come to you on my own."

"To what end?"

Sansa took a step back when the tall woman drew her sword, but Brienne was quick to kneel, presenting the sword to her, lowering her head.

"To pledge myself to your service. My lady, I vowed to obey and protect your lady mother: when Ser Jaime swore to her that he would bring you safely to her if given the chance, she ordered me to bring him back to King's Landing, and I did as I was bid. I know that he offered to bring you to your mother and brother, and that you refused him out of loyalty to your new husband."

Brienne raised her head, digging her eyes into Sansa's: they were pale blue, almost grey, and Sansa saw nothing but the truth in them.

"Your mother was kind, just, and strong," Brienne continued, "And I trust that she has passed these qualities onto her daughter: if you will have me, I will be your sword and your shield, as I was hers, I swear it by the old gods and the new."

Sansa took a few steps towards the other woman.

"May I?" she asked, making a gesture towards the sword.

Without a word, Brienne handed her the sword: Sansa held it carefully, studying the blade.

"Careful, my lady," she advised her, "Valyrian steel cuts like no other metal."

"I know Valyrian steel," Sansa absently said, her eyes on the sharpness of the blade. "And I know this sword, don't I?"

"Yes, my lady. Tywin Lannisters melted Ice into two smaller blades, one for his son, one for the king. This is the sword that was given to Ser Jaime: he gave it to me when I left King's Landing."

A faint smile curled Sansa's lips.

"I suppose there is some kind of poetry in protecting me with my lord father's steel," she said. "Did you name it? A sword made of Valyrian steel should have a name."

"Oathkeeper, if it pleases my lady," Brienne replied.

The smile grew slightly bigger on her pink lips.

"Oathkeepers please me indeed," she said, handing the sword back to Brienne. "You will always be welcome at my side and at my table, and never will I ask of you a service that would bring you dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new."

She offered her her hand.

"Rise, Brienne of Tarth. Be welcome to Highgarden."


	14. Mother, Maiden, Crone

**Chapter 14: Mother, Maiden, Crone**

Margaery Tyrell was even more beautiful than ever that day.

Her gown was absolutely spectacular: it was made of emerald silk with golden embroideries, with a long train that trailed behind her. Golden roses were sewn on the train and the back of her skirts, up to the small of her back. The gown was tight around the waist and had a rather low cut, bringing out Margaery's cleavage. Sansa thought that it looked a bit like her own wedding gown, but more splendid, more outrageous, less demure.

Like Sansa had the day of her wedding to Loras, Margaery wore a necklace heavy with gold and emeralds, with matching earrings and a matching bracelet. Her hair was styled in a rather elaborated way, held by a golden hair pin with an ornamented rose. On her shoulders, she wore a cloak much like the one Loras had given to Sansa, heavy green velvet with golden roses embroidered on the rich fabric. She was beaming as her father led her through the sept, towards the septon and her soon-to-be husband, who awaited her with a Ryswell cloak carefully folded in his arms and a smile on his lips.

"She's so beautiful," Jennisei whispered to Sansa when Mace walked past them with his daughter.

"She is," Sansa agreed in a murmur.

"That gown's more magnificent than the two others put together," Olenna noted. "Our Lord Oaf is sending a message."

Mace left her in front of the septon and next to Roger to stand with his mother, son and daughter-in-law as the septon's voice rose:

"You may cloak the bride," he said towards Roger, "And bring her under your protection."

Margaery moved slightly, turning her back on him so that he may switch the cloaks: Lord Roger's hands quickly unclasped the golden rose, removed the Tyrell cloak, and replaced it with his own. The new cloak was deep orange, with a stylized horse's head, that was black with a fiery red mane, and its clasp was copper with onyxes set in.

"My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of the gods and men to witness the union of Roger of House Ryswell to Margaery of House Tyrell: one heart, one flesh, one soul."

Roger and Margaery extended their hands put together so that the septon may tie the golden ribbon around them.

"I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one. Now," he said, looking at the soon-to-be wed couple, "Look upon each others, and say the words."

Roger and Margaery turned slightly so that they may be able to look into each others' eyes as they said their vows together:

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger," Margaery said, "I am his, and he is mine, from this day to the end of my days."

Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger," Roger said in unison, "I am hers, and she is mine, from this day to the end of my days."

"By the powers vested upon me," the septon said, "I declare Roger of House Ryswell and Margaery of House Tyrell to be man and wife: cursed be the one who would try to set them asunder."

Roger gently cupped Margaery's face with his hands.

"With this kiss I seal our vows, and pledge my love to you. You shall be my lady, from this day to the end of my days."

Applause rose in the sept as he leaned in to kiss his new bride.

"Hopefully this one lasts longer than the two others," Olenna whispered, a smirk curving her lips.

"_Grandmother!_"

"Loras," the old lady replied, "This is her third wedding. Weddings are expensive, tedious, and there is a lot of unnecessary eating. If we have to witness your father giving her away to another husband, we'll crumble under debts, I will die of boredom, and you will grow fatter than your father, and I doubt your own wife would be happy with that."

_I don't think Sansa cares whether I grow fat or not,_ Loras reflected. _After what she has seen, she must be disgusted of me all the same_. Ever since that day, he dared not touch her, for fear that she would refuse him - or worse, comply despite being repulsed. She no longer seemed to long for his touch, as well: before that incident happened, she would almost ask him, with or without words, to hold her as they slept, but ever since that day his lady wife had slept tight on her side of the bed, making no attempt to be in his arms anymore.

Loras was forced out of his gloomy thoughts when he saw that it was his turn: he was the third person to congratulate the new couple, seeing them only after his father and Lord Ryswell.

"Congratulations, sweet sister."

He kissed her forehead and she smiled to him, thanking him, and suddenly Loras was thrown a lifetime ago, when she had wed Renly. He was sure that she was beautiful that day, but he could not remember even if he tried: that day, he only saw Renly, clad in gold and green, with his stag crown, handsome as always. _We sneaked out of the feast together,_ he remembered. _And she knew all along what we were doing - she's too clever, how did we think that we could fool her? _He went on to politely congratulate Roger, nonetheless giving him the obligatory I-will-gut-you-if-you-harm-my-sister glance, before taking his leave and letting the rest of the Tyrells and Ryswells speak to the newly wed couple.

"She looks so happy," Sansa commented after she had given her best wishes to her sister-in-law and her new husband.

_As you did when I married you, and until I ruined it, _he almost answered,but he kept the thought to himself. Lately Sansa had reminded him more of the sad young lady he had first seen in King's Landing than of the happy young woman she had been in Highgarden, and he had no one to blame for this but himself.

"Yes, she does," he replied. "As does he."

_I will need to know what the Ryswells truly gain from this. It doesn't make sense that they would betray their overlords for the promise of Margaery's maidenhead - I must ask Father what he promised them, so that I at least know what to expect from them if Sansa and I truly are to rule the North_.

* * *

><p>The feast that followed was absolutely grandiose: mummers, delicious wines from the Arbor, and more food than the guests could eat in a week. <em>If I know my sister well,<em> Loras thought, _the children at the orphanage are going to have delicious meals in the days to come_. Then came the music, and the dancing, and everything was just like her wedding to Renly, or his wedding to Sansa, up until late in the evening, when Mace Tyrell rose from his seat and tapped his cup with his fork several times to draw the crowd's attention on the table of honor where he had spent the whole evening, save for the very first dance where he had danced with his wife.

"Vows were exchanged," he said, "Things were promised, and my daughter has been wrapped in a Ryswell cloak, but we all know that my sweet Margaery won't be Lady Ryswell so long as she's maiden. My lords, my ladies, it is getting late, and the wedding needs a bedding, what do you say?"

His proposition was met with cheers and whistles from men, and giggles from women, who were already pulling Roger Ryswell's clothes to force him on his feet.

"Careful, ladies," Sansa heard him warn them as they led him away, "Leave some for my bride!"

The warning was met with laughter: Sansa, whose big belly dispensed her from dragging the new groom around the castle, had a faint smile and turned her eyes to Margaery, who was being lifted in the air by the men, laughing as one of them gave the splendid gown a yank.

"She takes it better than I did, it would seem," Sansa noted.

"Yes," Margaery's mother, said with a smile. "Margaery has always known how to endure with grace, and smile her way through difficult ordeals."

To Sansa's left, Olenna rolled her eyes.

"Seven hells, Alerie, must you overstate everything? She is getting bedded, not sentenced to death."

* * *

><p>Margaery had been put down to the floor, and she was still laughing as the men pulled her towards her bedchambers. When they reached the door, she was naked as her nameday, and Loras himself lifted her in his arms: she smiled at him and threw her arms around his neck, paying no mind to the man who removed her shoes.<p>

"This better be the last time you must carry me to my wedding bed," she whispered as he led her.

"Agreed," he whispered back, laying her carefully on the soft pillows. "But if he harms you," he added, his voice so low that no one but Margaery could hear him, "I _will_ kill him."

Margaery gave his hand a squeeze as the men in the door frame moved aside to let the women drag Roger in, and in less than thirty seconds everyone but the bride and her new husband had left the room. Margaery leaned on her side, her eyes on Roger, doing no effort whatsoever to hide her naked body. She studied him in silence, his sharp face, his strong jawline, his muscles and scars, his erected manhood, his steel grey eyes: not as handsome as Renly had been, but there was still a strength within him, and there was a beauty to that strength. _All men are beautiful in their own way,_ her Septa had once told her, _You will not choose the man you gift with your maidenhead, but you will choose the way you see him._ _Find his beauty, and cling to that. _She smiled warmly to him.

"Won't you join me, my lord?" she offered.

The proposition seemed to both please him and raise his suspicions: she arched an eyebrow when she noticed it.

"What?" the brunette asked. "Do I seem too wanton for my lord? Would you rather have a timid bride?"

She covered her round breasts and womanhood with her hands, her eyes teasing him.

"Would you rather I try to hide my body and shy away from your eyes? I am not ashamed of you seeing me, but I can _pretend,_ if you would prefer that."

He took a step towards her and the bed, but the frown would not leave his face.

"Are you sure you're still a maid?" he asked.

"I believe I, of all people, would know if I had failed to preserve my maidenhead," she replied, getting on her feet.

She gently touched his hand.

"I've been a maiden for longer than I should have been," she continued, leading his hand towards her breast, "And now my maiden's gift is _yours_ - aren't you eager to claim it?"

Margaery gasped when he pushed her against his body with a hand to the small of her back, leaning in to kiss her: she gladly accepted his fierce kiss, tilting her head back. When he broke the kiss, his mouth carried on to give attention to her firm breasts, and she felt goosebumps all over her body as he kissed, licked and sucked on the sensitive skin: before long, they fell on the bed, Margaery's body pressed between her husband's and the softness of her bed.

As he leaned in again to kiss her passionately, her fingers burying themselves in his dark hair, she felt his hands running along her pale thighs, briefly stopping behind her knees to re-position her lower body: she felt his hardness brushing against her, and as they touched, Roger broke their kiss to dig his eyes into hers. Her blue eyes widened as he entered her with a pleasured groan, and the brief pain caused her to close her eyes tightly shut for a short moment. She re-opened them when his hand touched her cheek, and he kissed her again, fiercely claiming her tongue as he began thrusting into her. She moaned against his mouth, and when he pulled back from her lips and increased the pace, her pleasured sighs filled the room: it was not long until he leaned in, burying his face in her chocolate hair as his pleasure reached its paroxysm.

He barely had the time to lay on his back before she climbed onto him, a smirk on her lips.

"Again," she purred to his ear, lightly nibbling the lobe.

She laughed when he flipped her on her back and kissed her.


	15. Disturbed minds

**Chapter 15: Disturbed minds**

"What is taking her so long?" Mace Tyrell asked impatiently.

"Might be that Margaery and her new husband were still asleep," his mother suggested as she shrugged, "And Ellena had to wake and dress her. Or maybe Margaery asked her for something - she is _her_ handmaiden, after all."

"I told her to get me the sheets, not to linger there and chat. I knew I should have asked for witnesses."

"Witnesses?" Olenna scoffed. "Who is it that you doubt so much, Mace? Roger or Margaery?"

"At this point? Both."

Olenna rolled her eyes, but was left no time to formulate a reply when the door opened on the blonde handmaiden, who, surprisingly enough, was empty-handed.

"I thought I gave you a rather simple task, Ellena."

"My lord," she lowered her head, "I did not mean to disobey, but the bed was being used when I opened the door."

"I told you to get them up if that was what it took."

"My lord," the girl blushed, "I realize that, and I heard you well, only... only..."

"What?" he urged her.

"By the Seven," his mother sighed heavily, "Is it not obvious? They were not sleeping."

Ellena nodded, her cheeks a deep shade of red.

"That should be all the proof you need," Lady Olenna said towards her son, "You _did_ get a witness in the end."

"Good," Mace said after a moment of silence, sitting down in front of his mother, "Good."

With a gesture of his hand, he dismissed his daughter's handmaiden, who quickly took her leave.

"Good indeed," Olenna casually said, pushing a golden plate towards him, "Now perhaps you can stop venting and have some of that cheese, it _is_ absolutely exquisite."

* * *

><p>A bit later this morning, Margaery met Loras in a corridor, on her way to see Sansa.<p>

"You are going to train Arya again," she told him upon noticing the wooden sword in his hand.

"Good morning, Loras - oh, good morning, Margaery, may I say you look absolutely radiant today - oh, thank you, brother, you are most kind."

Margaery laughed.

"Granted, that was a bit of a rude greeting. Do I truly look radiant today?" she teased him.

Her gown was unlike anything he had seen her wear in her life: it was deep orange silk, with a cream Myrish lace shawl held in place around her delicate shoulders by a golden rose brooch.

"Is this the gown that the Ryswells gave you?"

"Yes," she replied with a faint smile. "Not my usual colors, but I daresay I love the style."

"It suits you perfectly."

Loras glanced around his shoulder to make sure nobody was coming their way to overhear them.

"Did he treat you well?"

"Must _everyone_ pry into it? Father sent Ellena for the bed sheets, only she ended up walking in on us instead, and now you ask about it as well? Is my maidenhead's loss so interesting to you all?"

"I only meant that if he, in _any_ way, brutalized you, I-"

Margaery shook her head.

"I know what you meant, dear brother," she said, taking his hand between hers. "Forgive me for this outburst, but rest assured that he did nothing that I did not ask or want. May I say, you are worrying about the wrong Lady Tyrell."

"Did Sansa speak to you about what happened?"

"Yes," Margaery softly replied.

"Is she unhappy?"

When she remained silent, he insisted:

"Margaery, _please_."

"In certain ways," his sister finally admitted.

"Because of me," he said, "Because of what she saw."

He shook his head and looked away.

"He was not worth it, Margaery," Loras confessed. "He was not remotely worth her pain. I've driven her away and for what? Not even for a man - for the_ memory_ of a man."

"What?" she frowned. "Is it true?"

"It was never about Inan, it was-"

"Oh, I know," Margaery sighed, "I know who you were with in that pretty head of yours - or do you still take me for a fool? He was good, and just, and handsome. He's also gone now, _long_ gone, and Sansa is right here with your baby in her belly, and while she does find it very sweet of you to teach swordplay to Arya, don't you think that you spend to much time with the wrong Stark?"

"She doesn't want me anymore, who would after what she saw? I will not force myself on her."

Margaery took a deep breath, then sighed heavily.

"Sweet Mother above, the two of you over-think this matter so much that I'm getting a headache just hearing you talk right now."

"The _two_ of us? She has spoken of this to you?"

"I am her closest friend, Loras, of _course_ she has."

"What did she tell you?"

"It is not for me to say," Margaery shook her head, "But I will tell you this: speak to her."

"Of what? Of _this?_ I wouldn't, I couldn't-"

"Speak of the color of the sky if that will get the conversation started, but for the love of all the seven Gods, _speak to your wife_."

And without giving her brother any time to formulate a reply, she walked away.

* * *

><p>"My lady," Jennisei greeted her when she half-opened the door to her, "If you would be willing to wait just a few minutes, I am sure that Lady Sansa will be more suited to meet you."<p>

"Is this Margaery?" Sansa's voice said from inside the room.

"Yes, my lady, the Lady Margaery has come to see you, but-"

"Let her come in," Sansa ordered.

When the handmaiden obeyed, Margaery saw that Sansa was sitting on the edge of her bed, with Maester Lomys speaking to her in a hushed voice: upon seeing her, the maester stopped speaking at once, and although he bowed to her respectfully, Margaery knew that she was the cause of his silence.

"No need to stop speaking," Sansa ordered the maester, "I have nothing to hide from her."

"As my lady commands. As I was saying to your ladyship, such symptoms should not worry you, as they are not always alarming: the making of a new life is hard work for a woman's body, and as such, discomfort is, unfortunately, to be expected. I advice that you do not strain yourself, but you should carry on with your usual activities. Please send for me at once if you experience any further discomfort, or notice anything that worries you."

"I will," she replied. "Thank you for your advice, Maester, you have been most kind and helpful."

Lomys bowed before taking his leave.

"What brings you to me this morning?" Sansa asked Margaery.

Noting that her sister-in-law did not seem to be willing to further expend on the castle's maester's presence in her bedroom, Margaery decided not to ask:

"The feast yesterday had so much food, we hardly ate half of it: I wanted to give the leftovers to this orphanage I sometimes visit, and I came by to see if you wished to accompany me."

"Where is this orphanage?"

"Deep within the city," Margaery replied. "It looks a lot like Flea Bottom in King's Landing, so not the best neighborhood, I'm afraid, but I went there myself plenty of times without problems."

Sansa shook her head.

"I would rather not go to such a place."

"What do you fear?"

"I went through Flea Bottom once," Sansa replied, "I was with the royal escort when princess Myrcella left for Dorne. The mob attacked us, I was left behind and three men cornered me in an alley, and they would have raped me if not for the Hound. They_hated_ me, these men, they wanted to hurt me even though they didn't know me - my handmaiden Shae told me that they despised me for being highborn. She said that they hated what I represented, and that they would've harmed me because my horse ate better than their children. Why should the people here be any different?"

"Sansa."

Margaery sat next to her on the bed, gently taking one of her hands between hers, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"To the people of King's Landing, you were the daughter of a traitor, and betrothed to the cruel king that was the cause of their starvation. To the people of Highgarden, you are Loras' wife, and my sister: soon you will be mother to Loras' heir, and you personally come to them to provide food and toys to the least fortunate of all, the poor children who have lost their families. How could they hate you?"

"Why do we go ourselves? Can't we just send them the supplies, have other people give them away in our names?"

"We could," Margaery conceded, "But people love us even more if we do the deed ourselves. See, if I send my servants give food to this orphanage, the children eat well, and that is good: but if I go too, then they can see that I truly care about them, and that even _I_, the daughter of Lord Mace Tyrell, am not above going directly to the smallfolks to speak to them and play with their children. It is both a humbling and rewarding experience."

When her sister-in-law seemed only half convinced, Margaery insisted:

"Do you not trust me?"

"I do," Sansa answered with a faint smile.

Margaery smiled and got on her feet.

"Then what are we waiting for?"

* * *

><p>"Got you again!" Arya triumphed, giving him what would've been a stab to the stomach had she been using an actual sword.<p>

"Good," Loras commented. "Again."

As he raised his guard, ready to spar again, he noticed that Arya had crossed her arms and put a deep scowl on her face.

"Something troubling you?" he asked.

"Are you going easy on me because I'm a girl?"

"What?" Loras frowned. "No. Nobody has ever learned anything from a teacher who went easy on them."

"Then _why_," she poked him with the wooden sword, "Am I finding it this easy to go pass your guard today?"

"You are improving."

"I'm not that much better than I was two days ago. _You're_ worse."

Loras arched an eyebrow: Sansa had told him her little sister was brash and sassy, but he hadn't expected _this_ from his sister-in-law. _Who's training who? _a voice asked in the back of his already busy mind.

"Excuse me?"

"You're _worse_," Arya insisted. "You move slower and you strike weaker. Your faints wouldn't convince a cockroach."

Loras' eyebrow got even higher.

"A cockroach?" he repeated, half-insulted, half-amused.

She glared at him, and he sighed.

"I'm sorry for not being all there," he said. "I'm a bit preoccupied today."

"About what?"

"I don't think this concerns you," Loras replied after a short moment of silence.

"I think it does."

"How so?"

"Your preoccupied mind interferes with_ my_ training."

She took a step towards him, studied his closed face and stern features.

"Is something wrong with Sansa?" she asked.

There was a hint of worry in her voice, which made Loras answer her truthfully:

"She's fine," he said, "Just upset with me."

"Then solve it," Arya said matter-of-factly.

"I've been giving her time."

"That's it? Seven hells, where do I begin?"

Arya sighed heavily and slapped her own forehead with her hand.

"Sansa knows how to hold a grudge," Arya said. "She does not glare, she does not scream, she does not throw tantrums: she's too proper for that, but she can be upset all the same. She'll be polite and smile prettily, and she'll be dutiful and considerate, and she'll _look_ like she's okay, but until you actually _do_ something, she'll still be angry inside. The more courteous and formal Sansa is, the angrier she is."

_That does sound dangerously accurate,_ Loras thought.

"You don't simply wait for Sansa not to be upset anymore," Arya continued, "You make her forgive you."

"How?" Loras found himself asking, while perfectly realizing the ridicule of asking a young maiden about such a thing.

Arya shrugged.

"I don't know. Depends on what you did, I suppose."

She gave him another shrug, and a faint smile curved her lips.

"Lemon cakes worked for me most of the time."  
>"I might try that," Loras replied, half-joking, half-serious.<p>

"Don't you dare!" Arya protested, glaring at him. "Lemon cakes are my trick, find your own."

_All right,_ he thought, _I shall._


	16. Amends

**Chapter 16: Amends**

"Are you alright?" Margaery asked Sansa.

The two young women sat on silky cushions as they were being carried through the city to the orphanage, followed by servants carrying food: the cortege was well-protected by Tyrell guards and Brienne of Tarth, who towered most of them.

"Nervous," Sansa simply replied, trying her best to smile in a convincing manner.

"Why?"

"What if they don't like me?"

"Why wouldn't they?" Margaery asked.

_My own husband does not, for a start,_ Sansa thought.

"I don't know, I just fear it."

"From my experience," the brunette replied, "Smallfolks find it extremely difficult to dislike people who offer them free food. Especially children."

"You must be right," Sansa replied. "Forgive my lack of trust, I'm sure you know what you are doing."

"Is something else troubling you?"

Sansa bobbed down.

"Loras," she replied. "Margaery, he won't even spend _time_ with me now, he's always either teaching Arya, meeting with your lord father, or training, or Gods know what else - I don't even know..."

"Go on," Margaery softly encouraged her.

"I don't even know if he still sees that man in secret," Sansa added in a whisper.

"He does not."

"How do you know for sure?"

"Because he told me so," her friend replied, "And Loras is a pitiful liar, almost as bad as you."

Before Sansa could think of a reply, they stopped, and a Tyrell guard opened the door for them: he helped Margaery step out, then Sansa. Sansa stepped in mud as she got out - or at least, she hoped that it was mud - and a powerful stink made her cringe a little. Around her, the buildings were two or three stories high, dirty, with cracks in the walls and few windows. The small street was overcrowded, especially since the smallfolks now had to walk around their little cortege: it really did look like being back to Flea Bottom.

"Lady Margaery," a woman gave her a curtsy, "We are so pleased to see you!"

"Good day, Anya," Margaery smiled, "I was married yesterday, and as usual for weddings, too much food was served, so I thought of you, naturally."

"Yes, the wedding. We heard the bells all day, even here in the heart of the city. Congratulations, m'lady. Come in, the children will be so happy to see you, they have missed you when you were in King's Landing!"

As Sansa followed the caretaker and Margaery inside, she saw that the old woman was right: Margaery barely had the time to step in the common room where most of the children were playing before being flooded by happy children running to her.

"Lady Margaery!" they said, reaching out to touch her hand, her gown, or to get a hold of her waist or leg, depending on their height. "Lady Margaery, I love you!"

"Lady Margaery, you are so beautiful!" a boy said.

"Lady Margaery, look, _look,_" a little girl said, "I asked Anya to do my hair like yours!"

Sansa noticed that the child had her chestnut hair done in a very approximate imitation of Margaery's own hairstyle. Margaery smiled warmly to the girl.

"And you look absolutely beautiful, Janna," Margaery said, picking her up to kiss her cheek. "My darlings, I would like you to meet my dearest friend, Sansa. The Lady Sansa is married to my brother - you know my brother Loras, don't you?"

"Yes!" the children responded in unison.

"He's the Knights of Flowers," a tall boy said. "The best knight in the Reach!"

"The best in _Westeros_," another boy corrected him.

"He fight for the good and protects the weak and poor from evil," Janna added dreamily.

_Well, Loras' reputation precedes him, even in orphanages, who would have thought? _Sansa reflected.

"Just so, sweetlings," Margaery said with a smile.

As her arms were tiring from holding the girl against her, she put her down.

"When I told her I was coming here to see you, my sweet sister insisted on coming with me," Margaery told the children, who were drinking her every word. "She was so eager to meet you. Come, let's talk."

Taking Sansa's hand, she let her further into the orphanage's common room and sat with her on a wooden bench: the children sat on other benches and on the floor, looking at the two highborn ladies.

"Sansa is here now, married to Loras, but she is not from here. Sweet sister, why don't you tell them?"

All eyes turned on her: Sansa tried to put her warmest smile on her lips.

"I was born in Winterfell," she said. "Do you know where it is?"

The children shook their heads.

"It's far away from here," she continued, "So far up in the North that we have snow, even in summer."

"What's snow?" the little girl named Janna asked.

It was only then that Sansa realized that these orphans had been born in the Reach, which was so deep in the South of Westeros that it only saw snow in winter, and these children were too young to have known a winter.

"Snow looks a lot like sand," she explained, "But it is white, and cold, and it melts and turns to water when it touches something warm. Normally snow only falls from the sky in winter, but in Winterfell we have it every now and then in other seasons."  
>"Is your father a warrior?" a boy asked.<p>

Sansa bit her bottom lip.

"He was," the young woman replied, "A warrior, and a lord who ruled over all the North, like Lord Mace rules over the Reach. He's gone now, and so is my lady mother."

"Why?" Janna asked.

Sansa glanced at Margaery, looking for advice, but her friend simply nodded.

"The Lannisters," she uttered under her breath.

"The Lannisters are bad people," the girl said. "They put Lady Margaery in the dungeons!"

_Lord Mace's speeches are effective, I see,_ Sansa thought. _He has convinced everybody, even the children in the orphanages, that the Lannisters were not trustworthy - I wonder if they will attempt to help the Boltons when the Tyrell army lays siege to Winterfell?_

"Why are you so big?" a small girl with blond curls asked her.

Sansa smiled.

"Because I have a baby in my belly," she replied.

"How did it get there? Did you eat it?"

"No, sweet girl," Sansa laughed, "The gods gave it to Loras and me, and soon if the gods are good they will give one to Margaery and her new husband as well. Did you hear the bells yesterday?"

"Yes," some children replied as others simply nodded.

"The bells were for Margaery's wedding, and we decided to come here to share some of the feast with you. What do you say?"

With a subtle movement of her hand, she gestured Ellena and Jennisei, who were carrying the food, to come in: the children cheered, extending their hands to receive a piece of bread, fruit, or cake that they eagerly ate as soon as they received it. The handmaidens were only giving a small portion of the feast's leftovers: the rest had been given directly to the orphanage's kitchen. The children and their caretakers would have food for days thanks to Margaery's donation. They laughed and chatted between them as they ate, and Sansa found herself beaming as she saw their faces lightening up.

"See," Margaery whispered, leaning towards her, "I told you. Is it not the best feeling?"

"It is," Sansa replied, a smile still plastered on her lips. "Thank you for making me come here."

"Lady Margaery, Lady Sansa."

Anya gave them a curtsy.

"I wanted to thank you personally for coming here, and for your kindness. They'll have food, good food, for days thanks to you. We are so grateful."

"You know it is always my pleasure, Anya," Margaery said, taking her hand with a smile. "Please come to us if you need anything else, do not hesitate."

"Thank you, m'lady," the caretaker repeated.

"We are glad to be of help," Sansa told her with a smile.

The old woman left them when a child's voice called her name: once the children were done eating, Margaery and Sansa distributed toy knights to the boys and dolls to the girls, and they played with them for hours before taking their leave from the orphans.

* * *

><p>Early in the evening, Sansa, Brienne and Jennisei were making their way back to Sansa's bedchambers.<p>

"Margaery was right," she said, "I feel so good now. They seemed happy, truly happy, and it only cost us some time and left-over food that would have been wasted otherwise. I'm so glad we were able to bring them joy."

"They did seem to like you very much, my lady," Jennisei told her.

"That they did," Brienne added. "You acted with the goodness of your heart. Your lady mother would have been proud."

Her words brought a smile to Sansa's lips.

"Thank you, Brienne, this compliment means a lot to me."

"Nothing but the truth, my lady."

The three women entered the large bedroom: contrary to what Sansa had been expecting, Loras was already inside, staring through the window, a glass of red wine on the desk by his side. When he turned around, his eyes met with Brienne's, who did not look down nor budge. He had not seen her in Highgarden up until now, even though Sansa had told him about Brienne's pledge to her, and because Brienne of Tarth had served Catelyn Stark, he dared not speak against it, understanding how Sansa could feel obliged to accept her, but that did not mean he had to like it, or to like_ her,_ for that matter. _I had a fight with Renly because of her,_he remembered. _He died before I could apologize for having been such a twat. He died angry with me._

"I will take my leave now," Brienne said after a long, awkward silence. "My lady, Ser Loras, Jennisei: good evening."

She gave them a bow, apparently having never heard of a curtsy, and took her leave.

"Leave us too, please," Loras said towards the bastard girl.

The handmaiden's grey eyes turned towards her mistress, silently asking her what she should do, and Sansa gave her a nod: Jennisei politely wished them a good evening and left the room, closing the door as she did so. Sansa expected her husband to speak: instead he turned his attention back to the window. She took a few steps into the room, unsure of what the proper behavior was: he had bid her handmaiden to leave, so he probably wanted to tell her something in private, but then why wasn't he uttering a word?

"I did not know you drank wine," she said upon noticing the glass.

It was true: she had not seen him with wine except at the wedding feasts, but in fact she was only saying this to break the silence.

"When I must," he replied.

"And today, you must?"

"Definitely."

She sat down at the table: her legs were tired from having stood up most of the day, playing with the children alongside her sister-in-law.

"My lord, did-"

"Loras," he cut her, still staring through the window. "My name is Loras."

"Loras," she corrected, "Did I ever..."

She shook her head. _I can't,_ she thought, _I can't ask, I shouldn't, I can't push him, this is not right._

"It would be improper of me to importune you with this," she said. "I'm sorry."

"No," Loras turned around, "_I'm _sorry."

Before her brain could comprehend what he meant by that, he was on his knees before her, taking her hand.

"I'm sorry for betraying you," he said, "Whoever it was with, no matter the circumstances, it was unworthy of me, and you deserved more respect and more consideration than this from your husband. I'm sorry, I know that I have caused you sorrow, and I hope that one day you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

"My lord," Sansa replied, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, "There is nothing to forgive. I am not angry with you. People make mistakes - even my lord father was not perfect in this regard."

Loras frowned.

"I'm... I'm confused," he managed to say, "If you are no longer angry with me, why have you been so unhappy around me since that day?"

"Is it not obvious?" she asked.

_No,_ he thought, _It isn't. It really isn't_.

"I'm not angry that you broke your vows - not anymore. I'm upset because I understand that you have never desired me, and that you never will: it broke my heart to realize that everything we shared had been nothing but duty to you."

"I wanted you," Loras replied. "In King's Landing, here: I wanted you. A man's desire is hardly something that can be an act. Where was the _duty_ here when you were already pregnant with my child?"

"But ever since I saw you with him, you haven't... _we_ haven't-"

"Because I thought you would be repulsed by me after what you saw," he confessed.

"How could it be repulsed by you?" Sansa asked him, and he saw tears in her bright blue eyes. "I _love_ you, I've loved you from the first day when you gave me that rose."

_Margaery knew this,_ Loras realized, _This is why she wanted me to speak to Sansa. Dear sister, you are right, I **do **over-think it. _He leaned forward, kissing her gently: she was more than glad to accept him, and before long he found himself deepening the kiss and bringing her closer with a hand behind her back. She kissed him back hungrily: they had not kissed since that dreadful day, and even though she knew she had missed his lips, only now did she realize to what extent exactly she had missed them. Loras' mouth moved down to her long neck, kissing her on _that_ spot that made her sigh with pleasure and throw her head back: eager to see more and touch more, he ripped her gown apart. Sansa heard the delicate fabric being torn, but she paid it no mind.

"Sorry," she heard him whisper.

"I don't care," she whispered back, leaning in to seal his lips with a passionate kiss.

She had other dresses, but only one Knight of Flowers, after all.

As he led her towards the bed, her agile hands hastily got rid of his silky shirt: she kissed the newly exposed skin, her long fingers trailing on his lean musculature, all the way down to his belt, which she unfastened. His skin was soft, and warm, and _Oh gods I have missed you._ Loras' hands further ripped the light green gown, until it fell down to the floor and left her naked: his left hand lazily followed the curve of her round belly, down, down, _down_ to _that _spot between her legs that always made her quiver. She gasped and leaned against him, her arms around his shoulders to hold herself somewhat straight as her hips moved subtly to follow his hand's rhythm.

"Yes," she breathed, throwing her head back, slowly abandoning herself in his arms, "Yes, I- you- _yes_-"

She sighed with pleasure when his finger entered her: whispering something that he did not hear clearly, she dug her pristine nails deep into the tender flesh of his shoulders, her whole body stiffening, a faint moan escaping her parted lips. He held her close as her pleasure reached its paroxysm, her small body trembling against him: when Sansa came back to her sense, she took a step back and sat on the edge of their bed. For a short moment he was confused, almost worried, but as she entangled her fingers with his and gave him a subtle smile, he felt reassured.

"Come," she softly said, gently pulling him towards her, "Be with me again, my lord, I have missed you so dearly."


	17. Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken

**Chapter 17: Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken**

The morning after, Loras and Sansa were woken up by someone knocking on their door.

"What in the seven hells," Loras muttered when he noticed that the sun was barely up. "Matter of life or death or go away!" he said towards the door.

"Mmh-mmh," Sansa stirred in her sleep next to him, her eyes still closed.

The wooden door opened on a young man, who immediately bowed.

"Apologies if I disturbed or intruded, m'lord, but your lord father requests your immediate presence in the great hall."

Loras grunted.

"He said it was important, although I don't know about life and death."

Loras grunted again, but then he sighed, resolved.

"Fine, tell him I'm coming."

"Yes, m'lord."

As he got up to get dressed, Sansa rolled to the side in the featherbed, lazily cuddling her soft pillow: he smiled faintly and softly kissed her cheek before leaving the room. When he got to the great hall, he saw not only his father, but also Lord Rodrik, Lord Roger and his sister.

"Ah, Loras, good. I thought you would like to know that we are leaving for Winterfell today."

"We?" Loras said, feeling fully waken up all of a sudden. "Who's _we?_ Why did I not know beforehand? Since when did 'we' stopped including me?"

"'We' stopped including you when I decided that I was not going to war with the sole heir to Highgarden. There is no sense in risking your life as well."

"Sansa is pregnant," Loras objected.

"Precisely, she's about to give birth, so you should stay here."

"As if I'm going to be of any help in that matter," Loras rolled his eyes, "What am I, a maester? A midwife?"

"What if the child is stillborn? Female? Sickly? What if he _dies?_ Infants die all the time. You will stay here, and rule the Reach in my stead. It is more careful this way."

Loras shook his head, and Mace knew his son was extremely displeased by his decision, but he would not change his mind.

"Do you believe that the North will accept a lord who let his father conquer Winterfell for him? What will they say of me?"

"No worse than our enemies would say of us if we left Highgarden and the Reach without a ruler. My decision is final, Loras."

The young man bit his tongue. _This isn't right,_ he thought, _I'm a knight, not a politician. **I **should be going, and Father should be in Highgarden._

"Rule well," Mace told him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I know you will. Listen to your grandmother once in a while, it will spare you a lot of headaches."

The advice made Loras laugh, despite his bad mood.

"Shall we go?" Mace said towards the Ryswells.

"Yes, by all means," Rodrick replied. "Roger?"

Margaery gave her husband an elegant curtsy: Loras noticed that she was wearing yet another splendid gown in Ryswell colors. She even wore the cloak Roger had given her at the wedding to keep her warm.

"I will pray every morning and every night for your safe return, my lord," she told him.

With a firm hand behind her small back he brought her flush against him, leaning in to kiss her deeply, only pulling back when Mace and Loras cleared their throats. He smiled to her and hugged her. _She looks so small in her arms,_ Loras reflected. _She seems genuinely happy, too: she deserves as much_.

"Don't worry, sweet wife," Roger told the brunette, "I will not fail to come back to you."

With a soft kiss to her forehead, he took his leave, departing with his lord father and Mace Tyrell. Once the three of them were gone, Loras heard her deeply breathing in, then out. Without a word, he put a comforting arm around her delicate shoulders, holding her close.

"Don't worry," he told his sister, "I'm sure he will be fine."

"I hope so."

Yet another slow, deep breath. He knew her well enough to know that this was her way to avoid tears.

"I was married thrice," she said.

"I know, I counted," he replied, half-joking, half-serious.

His comment managed to put a brief smile on her lips.

"If this one does not make it back," she said, "I think I'll become a septa."

* * *

><p>Later that day, Sansa was doing some needlework with Jennisei when there was a soft knock on the door.<p>

"Come in," she absently said, her eyes still focused on her work.

Upon being invited, Margaery entered the bedchambers: Sansa lifted her eyes and smiled when she saw her.

"Hi," she said. "Please, have a seat."

Margaery sat next to her, glancing at her work.

"Gods," she said, "It's so beautiful!"

Sansa's work was nearly done: she had made an elegant snow-white direwolf, with a crown of golden rose on a emerald green field. Under the wolf she had written the words "Grow strong, for winter is coming" in stylized silvery letters.

"Thank you," Sansa found herself blushing a little, "I made it for my little lord or lady."

"I love how you combined our words," Margaery commented with a smile. "I had never realized how complementary they could be."

"Mmh-mmh."

She put the work aside to direct her attention to her sister-in-law.

"I spoke with Loras," she told her. "We... well, there was a lot of misunderstanding. We solved it, and I feel much better now."

"_Much_ better?" Margaery playfully asked. "Was it _only _words?"

"Margaery!" Sansa said reproachfully, giving her usual please-do-not-make-me-say-anymore glance.

"What?"

Margaery shrugged.

"Roger left with his father and my father this morning. I likely won't see him for months. You have to give me something."

"Let us say..."

Sansa's eyes rose to the ceiling as she searched for her words.

"The gown I wore yesterday will be impossible to salvage."

"He tore it apart?" Margaery chuckled. "Odd. I would never have picked him for a gown-ripper."

The comment made Jennisei laugh softly.

"Would you come with me for a ride?" Margaery suggested. "I was planning on going with Ellena, and I thought you might want to accompany us. Jennisei is welcome to come, as well."

"You honor me, my lady," the handmaiden politely said.

"I'm not a very talented rider, I'm afraid," Sansa hesitated.

"Oh, no worries. We have very good horses here in Highgarden, you needn't be afraid."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course! Come, I'll show you to the stables."

* * *

><p>In the meantime, Loras, still upset with his father's decision to leave him behind, was taking a walk in the gardens when his path crossed Brienne's.<p>

"Ser Loras," she greeted him, stiffly but respectfully.

"Lady Brienne," he politely replied, his eyes avoiding her as he walked pass her.

_Gods be good, could I at least not stumble across her randomly?_ he mentally sighed.

"Ser Loras," her voice said in his back.

He did not especially want a discussion with Brienne of Tarth, but ignoring her would've been plain rude. He stopped, took a slow, deep breath, and turned around: she was fidgeting with the sleeve of her blue tunic - dressing such a freakishly tall and broad-shouldered woman had proven difficult, even for the talented tailors of Highgarden, especially since she did not want to hear a single word uttered in her direction about gowns - and her pale face was progressively turning to a deep shade of red, but she did not seem to be able to speak.

"What is it?" he asked, feeling himself grow impatient.

_At least get to the point, woman_.

"I just wanted to know..."

She, too, took a deep breath, seemingly to gather her courage, and dug her eyes into hers.

"I mean, I _need_ to know - yes, I need to know whether or not you believe that I murdered our king."

One did not need to be a genius to know that she was referring to Renly, not Joffrey, but the question took Loras by surprise: he had not expected her to mention him, or at least he had not expected her to be so blunt about it.

"No," he finally said, after a moment of awkward silence, "I do not think that you killed Renly."

She seemed relieved, but any sign of relief left her ugly features and her pale blue eyes when he added:

"What I do think is that you were incapable of protecting him when he was attacked and murdered."

Brienne's face would not have been more shocked if he had physically struck her.

"I know that it was Stannis," Loras continued, "For who benefited from Renly's death more than Stannis? Even so, a man sneaked into his tent, ran him through with a sword and left unscathed when _you_ were guarding him. The fault is mine, too. _I_ was Lord Commander, I should never have left him in your care."

"My lord," Brienne stuttered, struggling to keep her composure, "There was nothing I could have done."

"Precisely," Loras bitterly replied.

"There was nothing _anyone_ could have done. It was a shadow, Stannis' shadow."

Loras snorted in disbelief.

"It is true. I had just helped him remove his armor, and he was talking with Lady Catelyn when a cold wind entered the tent," she remembered. "The wind formed a shadow, blacker than the darkest of nights, stabbed him and dissolved as quickly as it had appeared."

Loras took a step towards her.

"Do you take me for a fool?"

"No," she replied. "But it would indeed take a fool to believe that a man, _any _man, could sneak past a hundred thousands men after murdering our king. You have seen the woman that was with him, this red priestess. It was their doing - Stannis, the witch, and their fire god."

Nothing but silence followed this declaration: Brienne could sense Loras pondering her words, but she dared not push the matter.

"My lord," she stiffly told him as she gave him an awkward bow, "I will take my leave."

Loras did not reply anything and the tall woman walked away, leaving him alone.

* * *

><p>When Margaery, Sansa and Jennisei reached the stables, Ellena had already carried her mistress' order to ready four horses for them, and so when a young man approached Sansa with her snow-white mount, the horse was already saddled. He knelt next to the horse, his hands joined, ready to help her get on her horse, but Sansa was rendered speechless and frozen as a statue for a short moment: she recognized the smooth black hair and the copper skin. <em>He's the man who was with Loras,<em>she remembered, the memory making her shiver. There was no word in the Common Tongue that was strong enough to describe how awkward the situation was.

"M'lady," he said towards her, seemingly not bothered by the situation himself, "Let me help you."

Regaining her composure, she thanked him in a hushed voice and, with his help, got on her saddle. Margaery, Ellena and Jennisei, who did not have pregnant bellies, mounted on their horses with ease and without help, and once they were ready the four young women left the stables together.

"Something troubling you?" Margaery asked her, a smile on her lips, after a while of riding in silence.

"That man," Sansa managed to say, "That was..."

"I know, sweet sister, I recognized him as well. He's a bastard from Dorne who has worked in our stables for as long as I can remember. He's very good with the horses. Speaking of which, didn't I tell you, we breed very good horses in Highgarden. They are very gentle and obedient."

"It is a good thing," Sansa replied, "I was never a very good rider. Arya has always been better in that regard."

"My lady underestimates herself," Jennisei said, "You ride gracefully."

"That is very kind of you to say so."

"She speaks truthfully," Margaery commented, "You are much better than you think you are. I bet you can beat me to the treeline."

The four of them had been leading their horses towards the forest for a ride in the woods, and they could now see the treeline, about fifty yards away from them..

"I don't think so," Sansa said, "You are much more accustomed to this than me."

"Let's see," Margaery continued, ignoring her sister-in-law's plea, "The first one to the trees gets to eat the loser's desserts for a week."

"Margaery," Sansa rolled her eyes.

"Get me if you can!" the brunette laughed, bidding her horse to go faster.

Margaery's horse trotted, then galloped towards the treeline.

"Margaery, wait-" Sansa called her. "Margaery - Seven hells!"

Pushing her heels into the horse's sides, Sansa urged her mount to go a bit faster, so that she may at least follow Margaery, but as she did so the animal neighed and stomped the ground with its hoof.

"Oh," she said with a soothing voice, caressing the horse's mane in an attempt to calm her panicking mount, "It's okay, it's okay, calm down-"

But the horse did no such thing: neighing again, he reared once, lifting his legs from the ground a bit. Sansa and the handmaidens screamed in terror, which further scared the horse and made him rear a second time, this time tossing his inexperienced rider to the ground: Sansa felt flat in the grass.

"My lady," Jennisei said, quickly dismounting her grey horse to rush to Sansa, "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

Sansa clutched a hand to her womb, feeling a cramp that irradiated pain through her whole body as Margaery led her horse back to them. Once she reached them, she seized the reins of Sansa's horse: now that it was rid of its annoying rider, the animal had calmed down.

"My belly hurts," she complained, tears in her sky blue eyes, "Gods no, please, please-"

"Shh," Jennisei hugged her to comfort her, "It's okay, we'll take you back to the castle, the maester will take good care of you."

"My baby," Sansa cried as another cramp ravaged her, "I don't want to lose my baby, Mother protect me-"

"Ellena, get back to the castle," Margaery ordered her handmaiden as dread filled her, "Get Maester Lomys ready."

The blonde handmaiden was quick to obey, rushing her horse back towards Highgarden: Margaery dismounted her horse, kneeling next to Sansa.

"Sansa," she told her, "I know you are in pain, but can you walk? We need to take you back to the castle."

Sansa nodded, tears still streaming down her face.

"Good," Margaery said, "You're very brave, come - Jennisei, help her, please."

The bastard girl helped her mistress as Margaery took the three set of reins in her hands to get the horses back to the castle, and slowly the three young women made their way back to Highgarden's stables, Jennisei doing her best to support Sansa even though Sansa towered her by almost a head: when they got to their destination, Maester Lomys was already there, as expected, but they also saw Loras, whom they did not expect. His saddled horse was behind him, indicating that he had been about to go for a ride when he had seen Ellena arrive with Lomys.

"What happened?" he said, obviously worried.

"Are you in pain, my lady?" the maester asked her upon noticing her tears.

Sansa nodded, which seemed to worry the maester.

"Come, child," he said towards Jennisei, "Help me take her to her chambers, I need to examine her."

"What is going on?" Loras insisted, having been ignored the first time. "Is she going to be alright? And our child?"

"My lord," Lomys said, "With all due respect, I need to see to her immediately, please step aside."

When Loras obeyed, the maester and the handmaiden led Sansa outside.

"It was my fault," Margaery apologized when they were alone, "My fault, if anything happens to her or your child, it was my doing. I dared her to race me, but when she commanded her horse to go faster, the horse panicked and reared."

Loras frowned: the horses in those stables were, generally speaking, good and obedient. It was definitely unusual behavior. He approached to get a look at the horses Margaery had brought back.

"Which one was hers?" Loras asked his sister, inspecting the golden horse that had been hers.

"The white one," Margaery replied.

"She chose it?"

"No, it was given to her. The horses were already saddled when we arrived."

Loras seized the reins of the white horse, and froze when he recognized the mare.

"Who gave her the horse?" he asked.

"The stable boy," Margaery shrugged.

"Which one?" her brother insisted.

Margaery frowned, but answered all the same:

"The Dornish. Loras, why does it matter?"

"Because you are not to blame, and neither is Sansa."

He took a deep breath in a vain attempt to calm himself down.

"Inan did this," Loras growled, "And he will pay for it."

He stormed away before his sister could formulate a reply.


End file.
